


Magic To Do

by hamiltonkilljoy75



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Flashbacks, Kinda, Multi, Penny and Micah have kids, Post-Watford (Simon Snow), SnowBaz, Twenty Years Later, Watford (Simon Snow), agatha is a complex character because she doesn't deserve to be a villain!, baz is like his mom, but also like baz, but they stay in britain!, carry on, natasha is like simon, teacher!Baz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2019-09-06 04:03:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16824748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamiltonkilljoy75/pseuds/hamiltonkilljoy75
Summary: Twenty years ago, Simon and Baz defeated the Humdrum and fell in love.Twenty years later, Natasha and Ebb Salisbury-Grimm-Pitch are students at Watford School of Magicks, dealing with the trials and triumphs of having famous parents who saved the world. But their world is turned upside down when Baz is asked to fill in a recently vacated teaching position after Simon is kidnapped by strange men looking for the Mage. But he's been dead for twenty years. Right?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first Carry On fic (that I've actually published but shhhhhhhhhh) and I always loved those future AUs so I decided to make my own! Also the title is from Pippin because I listened to it a lot when I started writing and needed a snappy name (and we're going to establish that I'm a total musical nerd).

**Simon**

There’s a bag on my head. I can see pinpricks of light through the burlap (which clearly hasn’t been cleaned) and shadows where there are people. Or monsters. I’m not quite sure since there is a bag over my head.

“Mr. Snow,” a voice says (male, old, haggard).

I sigh and stretch out my neck. “Right, I’m going to stop you right there. My name is Simon Salisbury-Pitch. I got a Visiting from my mum last month and found out my middle name is Snow. And I’m married so I took my husband’s name since he’s from an Old Family and we want our kids to carry the name,” I start.

They take the bag off my head and my eyes have trouble adjusting to the light. The man interrogating me sighs and grabs my arm. “Mr. Salisbury-Pitch, then. When was the last time you were in contact with the Mage?” The haggard voice asks.

I blink and the world comes into focus. There’s a group of men (younger than me, probably fresh out of Watford) standing in front of the entrance to whatever warehouse we’re in. Their leader is hunched over me, his eyes wide and mouth slightly open to reveal a few yellowing teeth. And he smells overwhelmingly of boiled cabbages and rotten eggs.

“The Mage?” I ask, wanting to laugh and cough at the horrid stench. “He’s been dead for twenty years! I used the last of my magic to stop him from destroying the world as we know it! Although mum told me that he was my biological father. I’m surprised I didn’t get a visit from him, to be honest!”

One of the young men scoffed. “I told you this would be a waste of time, Davy. He’s just an old man; there’s nothing special about him anymore!” He says with an arrogant swagger in his step.

“I have wings. I got the tail removed after it got caught in an escalator but I still have the wings,” I say with a shrug. “I think that’s pretty unusual. Don’t you?”

A couple of the boys start to pull at wands or other magical streaming things. “We should just kill him and let them know we’re here!” Voices mumble in agreement as they all walk towards me. Their magic rolls off all of them in waves I haven’t felt in years. Twenty years, to be precise. I don’t have time to process that thought when a beautiful voice thunders out from behind the door.

“Open Sesame!”

The doors fly open and Crowley, he’s hot. His hair frames his stupidly gorgeous face and he’s wearing a blazer over a white tee (probably mine, let’s be honest) with his wand in hand. He’s smiling devilishly and gives me a wink.

“I’m afraid I’m going to need my husband back,” Baz says oh so calmly. “I’ve become rather fond of him. And I’m terrible at raising children by myself.”

I rolled my eyes and shake my head. “Listen to him, morons. I’d be much more useful if you let me go with him.”

He drops his wand to his side and talks directly to me. “Simon. Darling. I love you, but you’re going to need to shut up for a minute now; I’m trying to save your life.” He raises his wand again and refocuses his attention on the men in front of him. “Now where were we?”

“You said you were bad at raising the girls by yourself. Which is odd considering school is in session; we don’t have to worry about them!” I interject. “Oh wait, you meant Peter!”

He narrows his eyes at me, looking at me like he did when we were in school. “Simon…”

“What? These morons wouldn’t have remembered anyway! I was just helping you out!” I reply. “You look gorgeous, by the way.”

Baz rolls his eyes and smiles. “Thanks.” And then his magic is unleashed at full strength onto these poor kids.

None of them stood a chance against him, no matter how powerful they were. I just married the most talented magician to ever live who understands what happens when someone gets kidnapped (as he once was kidnapped himself). After completely defeating all the men in the room (I don’t know where the old man went; he just disappeared when Baz arrived), Baz runs over to where I’m sitting in the chair and begins untying me.

“Brings you back, doesn’t it?” I ask, looking down at him.

“What are you talking about?” He asks before it dawns on him. “Simon!”

I laugh. “What? I’m bored and thinking about you…and how the girls are at school…and I assume Peter is at daycare…which means that we have the apartment to ourselves…”

“You’re treading on thin ice, Snow,” Baz mutters, untying my arms.

“Salisbury-Pitch! I took your name and my mum’s; my middle name is Snow,” I say as he unties the final rope.

“Force of habit, Snow,” he says, kissing me gently. “You smell rank. I’m going to take you home.”

“Yeah, you are,” I say, kissing him again.

He sneers and helps me stand up. “You okay to walk?”

“I’ve been gone for six hours ago, not six weeks. I’m fine!” I say as we walk quickly towards the door of the warehouse. “It hasn’t been six weeks has it?”

“No. Just a few hours.” We start jogging down the empty street. Baz still has his wand out, just in case. “Who would even want to kidnap you anyway? You’re a relic!”

“Hey!”

“You know what I mean.”

I shrug. “Dunno. There was an old man who asked me when I was last in contact with the Mage of all people!”

Baz turns to me. “Tell me everything, right now.”

“That’s all there was to say! I think maybe the old man might have been named Davy. That’s what one of his men called him at least. They couldn’t have been much older than Tasha.” He pulls out his phone and starts calling someone. “Hey! Babe, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m calling Headmistress Bunce,” He replies, holding the phone up to his ear. “Hello. This is Basilton Salisbury-Pitch calling for Headmistress Bunce? Yes, I’ll wait.”

“Don’t do that! It’s not that big of a deal!” I say, walking in front of him.

“Simon, if someone wanted to kidnap you, they would have done it twenty years ago. You’re magic is gone; you’re the most useless wizard currently alive,” Baz says harshly.

I sigh. “I’m glad you think so highly of me!”

He kisses me. “Who else would figure out that you’d been kidnapped so quickly?” And then we’re making out in broad daylight on the edge of an intersection. That is until Baz gets off hold.

**Baz**

I fumble for the phone and press it to my ear. “Are you there, Mr. Pitch?”

“Yes! Headmistress Bunce! Hi!”

“Hello, Basil! It’s good to hear from you after all this time! I hope that you’re not calling about your daughters?”

“No, no. The girls are fine.” Simon’s rolling his eyes and sits down next to a building.

Headmistress Bunce laughs. “Well, Natasha has been quite vocal in her classes lately so I wouldn’t be surprised if she called to inform you of the moronic ideologies that behold the faculty. And it is Ebb’s first year at Watford, so it would not be surprising if she called homesick!” She says. “And of course, how is Simon?”

I shake my head. “Well that’s the thing. See…”

“Ebb said that he got a Visiting from his mother! Lucy Salisbury, of all people! I should have known!”

I’m beginning to pace. “Yes. Yes. Lucy Salisbury! Well what I’m trying to say is…”

“The Visitings this year have been quite strange! Did you hear that a student was Visited by a Professor at the beginning of the year?”

I sit next to Simon. “No, I didn’t hear that.”

“They found him dead at his desk the next day!” Professor Bunce says.

“Oh. That’s awful,” I reply. “In any case…”

“The Coven has been hard at work thinking of who could replace him. I hope you don’t mind, but I threw your name into the ring as a possible candidate!” She says completely nonchalantly.

My eyes widen and I look at Simon expectantly. He just shrugs. As usual. “I’m completely honored, Headmistress, but I already have work here in London and…”

She interrupts me as quickly as she has distracted me. “Simon can come along with you; I’ll make space for you to live. And you can return to London as frequently as you need. Again, the job isn’t officially yours, but you are the most qualified candidate in the running!”

“Headmistress Bunce, I don’t know what to say!” I reply, before mouthing out “Help me!” to Simon.

He rolls his eyes and snatches the phone away from me. “Hi, Headmistress Bunce. This is Simon Salisbury-Pitch. It used to be Simon Snow until we found out that Snow was actually my middle name, blah blah blah. Anyways, I was just kidnapped and someone asked me when I was last in contact with the Mage. Something bad is happening and we need to know what’s going on. And also telling the Coven wouldn’t be a bad idea.”


	2. Meet the Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha Salisbury-Grimm-Pitch is in her fifth year at Watford. Her teachers are ignorant, her roommate is nothing but annoying (sound familiar?), and her innocent little sister's turned into a gossip queen! And now her father's teaching at Watford?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We meet the kids! I like this chapter and it introduces modern Watford (or rather, Watford circa 2035).

**Natasha**

My roommate is insane. Genuinely insane. Papa and Dad said that the Crucible may not always give you what you want, but it’ll get you what you need. Bullshit. I do not need to share a room with Headmistress Bunce’s eldest granddaughter. She’s always looking at the stars, but not in the way that Papa studies the stars. It’s always in a philosophical “let me see into your future” bullshit astrology. Whenever I’m in a bad mood, she’s always like “Ah, Natasha! It’s all so simple! Mars is rising into your seventeenth house and eclipsing your sun planet of Saturn!” That’s not the point, Angelica! The reason that I’m angry is that you’re giving me worthless astrology instead of a bloody tampon (which I would not prefer to be bloody.) (Also I don’t know shit about astrology, as you can probably tell.)

Granted, it has already been a wild year: a professor has died in the first month, and everyone found out because Daniel Ricardo got Visited; Papa’s made us all change our names since Dad got visited by his biological mother; I’m kind of failing my classes. Of course, I’m not actually failing (I’m top of my class, per usual), but I am not always getting my way.

All of the things being taught at Watford are old fashioned and outdated. I do NOT want to be using the exact same magic Papa uses! I’m sure that everyone is thinking the same exact thing as me, but they just can’t spit it out. The professors think that I’m failing to see the point in their magic, which is the only thing that I can agree with them on. And isn’t failing to see the point of magic failing all aspects of magic?

Not to mention everyone has such expectations for the daughter of T Basilton Grimm-Pitch and Simon Snow. Ebb’s just a first year, so they don’t expect much from her, but I set the tone. Everyone seems to be counting on me to lead some sort of stupid revolution or whatever. I didn’t choose to be the heir of some Chosen One legacy, and quite frankly, neither did Dad.

Thank Merlin that Ebb is blending in better than me. She’s always been so eager and excitable; the last thing she needs is more pressure on her shoulders. Of course, it’ll be there once I leave in three years, but by then she’ll be a fourth year and top of her class (not only is she more socially skilled than I am, she’s always been smarter). And she has the namesake of a goatherd, not the youngest headmistress in Watford history! Dad says that I’ll learn to grow into the name of Natasha Pitch, but what if I don’t? The very thought of failing scares me shitless.

I’m snapped out of my trance with a knock at the door. “Come in!” I say as uninterested as possible, refocusing on the history book in my lap.

Headmistress Bunce enters the room, and I slam the book shut before standing up. I can barely see Ebb standing behind her. “Good afternoon, Headmistress! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She shakes her head. “Not quite a pleasure, I’m afraid. Come with me.”

Ebb and I are led out of the Cloisters and into the Offices of the Faculty, up all the way to Headmistress Bunce’s office. I see the old Heads of Watford, and it’s like a Pitch family tree, ending with Natasha Pitch. I look away.

“Do you want to sit down?” She asks us. Ebb nods and sits down, dragging me with her. Headmistress Bunce pours three glasses of water and sets two down in front of us. “Now I want to let you know that everything is okay now and that your father is fine...”

“Which one?” Ebb and I ask at the same time.

She laughs softly. “Simon. He was kidnapped by some unknown extremist group that wanted to know more about the Mage.”

I down the glass of water and slam it on the table. “Then how is he fine?” Ebb asks, clutching her water for dear life.

“Your other father, Baz, figured out that he was kidnapped and rescued him before any harm could be done.”

“And how is this supposed to make us feel better?” I ask, starting to feel my magic come to the surface. It does that sometimes when I get angry or emotional. “Nobody’s even spoken about the Mage in, what, twenty years? Why now? Has he come through the Veil or something?”

She shakes her head. “We don’t know. I only just received the news a few hours ago. Since then I have been contacting the Coven to see if they know anything about this. You are the first people in this school other than myself to know what happened.”

I’m about to go off again, but Ebb puts a hand on my arm and looks at me pleadingly with her big hazel eyes. I can’t argue with her when she does that, no matter how hard I try. “Will we get to see our parents soon?” Ebb asks.

Headmistress Bunce smiles. “In fact you will! In the last hour, the Coven contacted me with the name of the person who will be the newest professor at Watford!”

The doors open behind us as if on cue. “Am I interrupting anything?”

We turn around to see Papa standing in the doorway. He’s not wearing one of his work suits, but instead a long black overcoat with a dark green bow tie.

“You’re quite good at making entrances, Mr. Pitch!” Bunce muses. “And no. We were simply discussing your future employment here at Watford!”

Papa straightens up and fully entered the room, coat swinging behind him. “Excellent! When will I start?”

“We’ll give you the week to set up your classroom, settle into your living quarters, and look over the lesson plans and times you’ll be teaching.”

Ebb’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. “You’re going to be teaching us, Papa?” “During school hours you must address him as Professor Pitch, is that correct?” Bunce says, looking to Papa for confirmation.

He grins. “Indeed, Headmistress Bunce!”

“He will be teaching you and your peers.”

I’m mortified. Papa, my Papa, teaching classes at Watford?! When all I want is to change the system and then my own father going and blatantly betraying me? I feel my cheeks getting hot and hot tears welling up in my eyes. But of course, Ebb is over the moon. She’s already hugging him while I’m clutching the back of the chair I’m sitting in for dear life.

“Are Daddy and Peter going to come to Watford too?” Ebb asks.

Papa laughs. “Yes, Ebb. Dad and Peter will be coming to Watford with me. But you and your sister will have to stay in your rooms in the Cloisters.”

“Of course! Because nothing can separate the sacred bond of the Crucible, isn’t that right?” I ask angrily, wiping tears from my eyes and willing no more to fall. I cover my face and storm out of Headmistress Bunce’s office, slamming the door behind me.

It’s a long walk to the Cloisters and people are staring (per usual) but I don’t care. I run to my room, tears flying off my face until I finally collapse onto my bed and fall asleep.

**Ebb**

Papa looks at the closed door and frowns. “Fifth years,” he says simply. “Figures.”

He’s not mad or sad, or even showing any sort of emotion for that matter.

Headmistress Bunce laughs. “She’s definitely your daughter, Mr. Pitch.”

“Please, call me Baz,” he says holding out his hand.

They shake hands and smile. It’s awkward.

“What’s the thing with fifth years?” I ask, breaking the silence.

Both adults smile at me cryptically and laugh at some inside joke they must share. “If your sister is anything like your Dad and I were, you’ll see soon enough,” he tells me, ruffling my hair.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I reply, restyling my hair haphazardly.

I’m happy that Papa is here (I’ve missed him and Dad and Peter), but it’s like he’s speaking in some sort of professorial code that only employees of Watford understand.

“Patience, Eberneza,” Headmistress Bunce says, looking down at me. “Natasha needs to take this road alone; fifth year is the most formative year in Watford.”

I sigh and look down at the floor. “Yes, Headmistress. Good evening, Professor.”

As I turn to exit the office, Papa grabs my arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ebb! Tell your sister I love her and that Dad and Peter will be coming at tea time,” he says, planting a kiss on my forehead.

I nod and turn to run back to the Cloisters. For once, I’m going to be running the Watford rumor mill and not just being a lowly victim of it! I’m so excited that I start skipping.

**Natasha**

I wake up the next morning with Angelica staring down at me. “Crowley, Angelica! What do you want from me?”

“Well you weren’t at dinner last night and your sister was looking for you. Not to mention that you slept through breakfast!” She says as I sit up. The sun is high in the sky and streaming through the windows blindingly. “And there are all these rumors about your parents! I’m not sure which are true and which are fake to be honest!”

I rub my eyes and get out of bed. I’m still wearing a worn and wrinkled uniform from last night. “What have you heard?”

“That Uncle Simon got kidnapped by a bunch of people who want to know where the Mage is!” Angelica exclaimed. “And that Uncle Baz is going to be a professor here at Watford! Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

“Dad got kidnapped by some people. Dunno who and don’t care since he was rescued the same day. Headmistress Bunce said it was an extremist group looking for the Mage,” I say, looking through my clothes (though it’s completely pointless seeing as we wear the same thing every day, even on Sunday when there are no classes.) (And I’m still wearing my uniform from last night). “Papa is going to start teaching next week. I don’t know anything else other than that.”

“Well, you better get your sister’s mouth under control because she’s going to send your parents through the rumor mill and back repeatedly!”

It’s nice that Angelica is concerned about my family, since she is the daughter of their best friend and I’ve known her since utero. But it feels like she’s known me for longer and it kind of pisses me off, especially when I need to be alone.

“Wait, you heard all of this from Ebb?” I ask.

She shrugs. “She says that she just knows things. Such a typical first year move, making up stories to get attention!”

I haven’t even run a comb through my crazy bed head when I replace my wrinkled uniform with a new one with a “Pink! No Blue!” when I run out the door, slapping the stupid straw hat on my head. I nearly fall out the door of the Cloisters when I see Ebb surrounded by a group of first years telling some tall tale.

“So there they are, Baz turning onto more and more isolated dirt and gravel roads before getting out of the car,” I hear her say, completely fascinating the clump of eleven year olds. She looks and see me. “Hiya, Tasha! You wanna help me tell the story? You know it better than I do.”

I shake my head and pull her off the table she’s sitting on. “We need to talk!” I yell, shooing away the first years with an “as you where!”

Ebb furrows her brow and pouts. “Why’d you do that? I had ‘em hooked!”

“You can’t go around telling stories about our parents; they’re already dealing with enough to make their heads dizzy. You’re going to make it worse for all of us!” I say in a harsh whisper.

“But...”

“No buts, Eberneza! You can’t gossip about Papa and Dad! Especially now that Papa’s gonna be a professor!” I say, holding her shoulders square to me. “Promise me!”

“Natasha, all I want is...”

I’m getting angry and I start feeling magic bubbling up inside of me like a kettle of boiling water. “Just do it, okay?” I ask through gritted teeth, trying to keep my magic at bay.

I don’t want to argue with Ebb, but just as she’s prettier and smarter than me, she’s also less understanding of our family’s history.

“You’re not my mum, Tasha! Why should I listen to you?” Ebb taunts, crossing her arms over her chest.

She knows I hate that saying. We don’t see our biological mum often since she moved back to America with her boyfriend, but she calls as often as she can. Ebb doesn’t remember Agatha well enough to remember how much it hurt to see her leave. It all just makes me angry, and I don’t know why.

I pause for a moment (mostly to keep my magic down, but also to come up with an answer). “You know how when Dad had magic; he would have moments where he would explode and create a hole?”

She nods slowly.

“Well if you don’t shut up and do as I told you to,” I start, slowly and tacitly choosing my words, “I’m going to explode with magic and throw everything into chaos!”

Her eyes widen. “Please don’t explode, Tasha!”

“Then promise me you won’t gossip and never bring the mum card into an argument ever again!” I whisper aggressively.

“Natasha!”

I’m getting desperate. “Please!” I say. “If not for me than for Peter’s sake!”

Reminding Ebb of our little brother is always a low blow, but it’s better than bringing up Mum. And it always works. She bows her head in defeat, her hat falling off her head.

“Fine. I won’t spread stories about Papa and Dad.”

I nod. “Good. Make sure you don’t forget that, either.”

Ebb being Ebb, she’s not down for long. “Papa told me yesterday that Dad and Peter are coming in at tea time to set up their living quarters! Don’t be late!” She exclaims, skipping off to her group of friends that are waiting for her.

Angelica appears from behind me out of nowhere, nearly giving me a heart attack. “Hope she keeps that promise!” She says.

“Crowley, Angelica! Can you just give me a heads up that you’re there or something? Jeez!” I yell, falling to the ground (which is unfortunately wet).

She helps me up and blubbers out a million apologies. I keep telling her that it’s fine, but she won’t listen. Granted, in these situations, it’s better to let her apologize until you never want to hear the word sorry again. We walk towards lunch silently as everyone stops their conversations to look at me and continue whispering as if I don’t know that they’re oh so obviously talking about me. It was more annoying first year but as soon as I got used to it, it stopped happening. All this is on a new level of crazy that I don’t know if I can comprehend. But I really don’t care because I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch yesterday.

**Ebb**

“So what did your sister say to you?” Ginger asks me.

I roll my eyes. “She told me to stop gossiping about our parents,” I say as we walk to lunch. “Tasha just doesn’t understand what it’s like to have friends and take advantage of everyone whispering behind your back!”

Ginger has got to be the coolest person in the world, and we hate that we aren’t roommates. Not only is Ginger cool, she’s effortlessly popular. Everyone likes her: teachers, year eights, you name it! The one person who doesn’t like Ginger is my killjoy of a sister.

“Natasha is so lame!” She says, rolling her eyes. “Did you even see how her uniform looked today? What a bloody mess!”

Oh yeah, and Ginger swears like a Normal!

I laugh. “I bet she used magic to get dressed and it didn’t work properly!”

We sit down at our usual table and start serving ourselves. Ginger never eats much at any meal in the dining halls, so I don’t ever feel guilty about filling up.

“What kind of spell did she use? ‘Auntie Em?’” Ginger replies, sipping some water.

Auntie Em is a spell that creates super high-speed winds, similar to an American tornado. Like in _The Wizard of Oz._ And Natasha did look like she had been caught in a wind storm. It’s hard not to laugh whenever Ginger makes a joke.

**Natasha**

When I sit down in the dining hall, I look at the mess of my uniform: my tie was lopsided and loose; my shirt wasn’t buttoned correctly; my skirt was on inside out and sideways.

“I don’t think I’m using that spell again,” I mutter to no one in particular, pulling my skirt the right way round.

“Granted, you did kind of slur your words,” Angelica said, buttering a bread roll. “And we’re only in year five; Mum says it’s when students make their biggest mistakes.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer not to make any mistakes this year. I’m busy enough as it is!” I exclaim, grabbing a sandwich.

She shrugs. “It’s just what my mum says. Take it or leave it, but Mars is ruling so you really should listen to any advice from her.”

I sigh. “And why would that be?”

“Because her moon sign is Mars!” She says as if it’s common knowledge and I’m just playing dumb.

Holding down all my magic has already drained me. But it’s strange: I don’t normally overflow with magic. No one normally overflows with magic. No one except…

“Dad! I need to talk with my Dad!” I yell suddenly, startling Angelica.

“What in Morgana was that, Tasha?” I look around to make sure no one is listening to me. All that are look away and return to their normal conversations once I give them a classic Pitch sneer.

“Can you keep a secret?” I ask her. She crosses her heart and holds up her hands. “Good. Because I need to get something off of my chest that I can’t tell anybody until Simon gets here.”

**Simon**

I find my wand at the bottom of my bedside table drawer. It’s dry and dusty and smells awful, but it’s still technically my wand. I hadn’t used it since my last week of classes at Watford. If Penny knew that I kept it in a drawer locked away for the last twenty years, I would never hear the end of it.

“Daddy?” Peter asks, wandering into the room. “What’s that?”

The wand falls into the bottom of my trunk. “Nothing, Peter.”

“Was that your wand?” He asks, walking towards me. “Did you use that when you had magic?”

“Yes. I was terrible at it; I had no idea how to use it,” I sigh, looking at the trunk sitting on the empty bed. “Still don’t.”

Peter climbs up onto the bed and sits in front of me. He looks exactly like me when I was seven. Of course, he has a family that loves and spoils him like no other; when I was his age, I had no friends and no family and barely any good clothes. I never want my kids to go through what I went through. I love them so damn much; they’re my whole world. I got so lucky. Maybe it was payback for having such a shitty childhood, or maybe it was to replace my magic. I don’t need to bring my wand. Crowley, I haven’t uttered a spell in twenty years! Why would I need my wand?! I feel magic once and I feel the need to use something I was never good with. Even if I was getting my magic back, I’d summon the sword. If it even still exists.

“Are you feeling okay, Dad?” He asked, leaning against the trunk.

I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Peter raises his eyebrow (something he picked up from Baz; it’s adorable). “Are you sure? You don’t look so good,” He says. “You’re kinda green.”

My eyes widen and I run to the bathroom. I never saw my magic in the mirror when it was overflowing, but I see a hazy green cloud sparkling around my head. Exactly the color Baz described my magic to be whenever I was going off.

“Peter, can you hand me the phone?”

“Why?”

“It’s not important. I just need to talk to your Papa,” I say, messing with my hair.

He hands me the cell phone and Baz is already on the line. “Simon? Love, are you there?”

“Yeah. Baz. Hi. So I think I just got my magic back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? Simon has his magic back? Natasha has magic like Simon's? Did Penny and Micah really name their eldest child after a Schuyler Sister? Will Agatha ever come back from America? All questions that will be answered in MAGIC TO DOOOOOO!
> 
> Also I was editing with Grammarly and they suggest I used rod instead of wand because of repetition. Like, what?


	3. First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz's first day doesn't go to plan. Natasha finally snaps. Simon gets wet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agatha and Davy are going to serve as foils in a "Lucy" like subplots. I think.
> 
> Also thank you so much for reading you lovely people! Feel free to leave comments as that will really help me out.

**Agatha**

I stopped off at the post office on my way home from the beach. When I opened my post box, it was overflowing with mail and I had to bend over to pick it all up. Thank goodness I had brought one of the canvas totes from Trader Joe’s so I could carry it all to the car. I read my mail in the car: a load of bills, a random save the date that I don’t read, some catalogs and magazines, and a thick envelope. Penny and Micah’s wedding invitation.

My eyes widened and I ripped the envelope open. All these glossy sheets of paper fall out onto my lap. I’ve already booked my ticket to London when Penny asked me to be one of her bridesmaids, but I’m still excited to get the invite.

**Baz**

I don’t know why I’m so obsessed with “Open Sesame!” but I wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s nothing like making a bunch of students terrified into silence. And then there’s the moment you remember your daughter is in that class and she wouldn’t be in the least bit surprised when you use “Open Sesame” to enter for your first lesson at Watford. I should have followed in Mum’s footsteps and just gone right back to Watford.

When I enter, everyone is discombobulated. Well, everyone except Natasha who is just sitting in her seat looking bored. I roll my eyes and suddenly I’m Baz, a student at Watford: sneering, condescending closeted vampire. The only thing that’s different is that I’m not wearing a uniform (and I’m no longer closeted).

I start my pre-prepared monologue in the doorway as I walk into the room. “Hello students, my name is Tyrannous Basilton Salisbury-Grimm-Pitch but you,” I reach my desk and turn around to face the room of cowering fifteen-year-olds (and Natasha), “will call me Professor Pitch.”

Tasha rolled her eyes. “Glad my name isn’t as long as that mouthful!” She mumbles.

I’m sure she didn’t forget that I can hear practically everything. Or maybe it’s just a force of habit for her to be snarky whenever a teacher introduces themselves.

“Excuse me, but what is your name?” I ask Tasha. I don’t need to know her name: Simon and I agonized over it for nine months, and it still took three extra days to find the perfect name.

She smirks. “Natasha Summer Snow Salisbury-Grimm-Pitch,” She says, counting her finger to make sure she’s keeping track. “Though I may have forgotten a couple. After all, I only had a measly five names for the first fifteen years of my life!”

A couple of kids snicker at her comment. I shoot them a side-eyed stare to shut them up. “Well, Miss Salisbury-Pitch, consider yourself warned. Two more warnings and you receive detention.”

I’m trying to stay as calm as possible, but Tasha seems to have me all figured out. I really don’t want to make an example of my daughter, but I will if I have to. I’m sure it’s what my mother would have done if I acted that way in her class. “Now, in this class, we will be learning about...”

“Latin. We know. We’ve been learning this since Year One. Which is the same year Common Era that the language of Latin went extinct!” Natasha noted.

“Why don’t we go over the rules of this class first?” I say, beginning to improvise and grabbing a piece of chalk. “Rule number one: you will raise your hands when you want to participate, Miss Salisbury-Pitch!”

Tasha raises her hand and I stop writing. “Yes, Miss Salisbury-Pitch. What do you have to contribute to the conversation?”

“Well, first, choose either Salisbury or Pitch, Pops. I will respond to both,” she says, looking bored. “Second, are we going to learn any Latin today, or are we just going to sit here pretending it’s the first day of classes again?”

“Rule number two: Always address the Professor, no matter who they may be, with a proper title!” I say, scribbling in the chalkboard. I can hear Angelica trying to hold Tasha back from blurting out again, but I ignore it. “You’ve received a second warning, Miss Salisbury.”

“Hold on, Professor, but all of these so-called classroom rules seemed directly aimed at whatever disruptive behavior I’m exhibiting, which I can guarantee I have never gotten in trouble for in my other classes!” She yells, standing up and leaning over her desk.

A third rule came into my head fully formed, so I wrote it on the board. Rule #3: My classroom, my rules. Tasha begins to glow purple as her magic bubbles out of her the way Simon’s would. Except instead of warmth and heat, the room feels ice cold. Shit.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” She screams, her magic beginning to flood from her and into the room. You’d think with Simon’s outbursts and the long Pitch lineage of fire, Natasha would send everything a light.

Everyone immediately starts freaking out and splashing around. “Don’t open the door!” I yell. “We’ll flood the rest of the bleeding school! And don’t panic!”

I start swimming over to Natasha (the water’s too high to walk efficiently). “Tasha, you’re going to have to help me,” I yell. “I’m going to start saying a spell and you’re going to power it, okay?”

“What?” She asks me. Gone is the arrogance and swagger. Her eyes—my eyes—are staring back at me so helplessly, it nearly breaks my heart.

“Papa, what’s going on?” I grab her hands and place them on my forearms. “You’re going to give me some of your magic. It’s just like turning on a tap and funneling it through me.”

“What?!”

The water is chest deep; we’re running out of time.

“Natasha, close your eyes and breathe your magic out to me,” I say calmly. “I got you, pumpkin. Listen to me. It’s going to be okay. You can do this.”

I feel a surge of magic through my body and I hold my wand above the water. “The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout! Down came the rain and washed the spider out! Out came the sun and dried it all away,” I recite, my voice booming around the room. The water quickly recedes away and out the window. “And the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout.”

**Natasha**

The room is soaked and I’m exhausted. Everyone is coughing and on the ground. Papa hugs me and kisses my hair. “Atta girl. That’s how you do it!” He says before popping up and returning to the front of the class.

“Class starts in fifteen minutes. Please go back to your dormitories to change into something dry or carefully using ‘as you were’ to dry your uniforms,” he says, smoothing his hair back. “And feel free to completely disregard the rules I set up earlier. This is clearly not going to be a traditional Latin class! Just don’t be late.”

Everyone trickles out of the room like water except for me. Papa turns his attention to the wet books and papers around the room.

“As you were,” he mutters. “So is that how you’ve been acting in all your classes, Miss Salisbury?”

“I guess I saved my worst for your first class. I didn’t mean to, it just kind of happened.” I look down at the soggy floor and my soggy shoes and soggy stockings. “It just seems all so pointless, I guess. You’ve taught me everything already; you taught me all of it as soon as I learned how to talk! Why relearn it?”

He laughs. “You and I are too much alike, Tasha; we’re both Pitches through and through! But at the same time, you have your Dad’s magic!” Papa says, turning to me. “Your grandmother would have spoiled you rotten.”

I smile a little before looking up at him. “Why did I make it flood? Aren’t Pitches supposed to be good with fire?” I ask, memories of a fireball floating in Papa's hand coming to mind to warm my small fingers and nose.

"Not too close, Tasha. Or you might burn them!" He would say.

Papa sighs as he “as you were”s another section of the room, bringing me back to the present. “I don’t know, Tasha. But you went off in the same way your Dad used to.” He says. “Of course, whenever he went off, there was fire. It was always fire with him.”

“So I inherited whatever sort of magic catastrophe Dad had?” I ask.

He nods and dries more of the room.

I gulp and ask a question I never thought that I would ever have to ask. “Does that mean I’ll have to give up my magic one day?”

Papa stops in his tracks and turns to look at me. “That might have to be the case,” he says, holding my shoulders, “but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Right now, I want to learn everything you can, including how to control your powers to prevent you from going off at inopportune moments. Understand?”

I nod.

“Good. Now get changed into something dry! Class is starting in ten minutes! Don’t be late! That’s the one rule I’m going to stick to!”

“Understood, Professor!” I say before literally sliding out of the classroom. And falling on my ass.

“I’m okay!” I yell before carefully going to the Cloisters to change.

Angelica is rambling on about how crazy both Papa and I were and how it was already the best class period she’s ever experienced anywhere and that it wasn’t even over yet. All I can think about is how I need to tell Dad about my magic and its not very convenient tenancies.

**Angelica**

I don’t know what I expected from a class from THE T Basilton Grimm Pitch (or Uncle Baz during the holidays), but I did not expect there to be waterworks. It’s the one thing outside of astrology that I can talk all day about.

“And the best part was that he didn’t even freak out when it started flooding! He swam over to you and told you how to rectify the situation!” I exclaim, speaking a hundred miles a minute. “I can see why you’d want to talk to Simon about your magic now. I hope it doesn’t cause any holes in the magical atmosphere like he did when he had his magic.”

Natasha nods as we both quickly change into dry uniforms. I can tell that the whole incident drained her of any, if not all, of her energy: she can barely stand upright.

“Are you sure that you’re okay?” I ask.

She nods and pulls her hair up into a bun. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Let’s just get to class and get to lunch.”

We re-enter the classroom and Uncle Baz is sitting on the desk, sans overcoat, with his shirt unbuttoned slightly and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looks so much more relaxed than he did earlier when he tried to intimidate everyone.

“Right! So Latin!” He says as soon as everyone’s in the room. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

Professor Pitch was born to teach. There’s no doubt about it in my mind that he was always meant to be a teacher at Watford. He’ll make a great headmaster one day.

**Simon**

Baz walks into our apartment soaking wet. “What happened to you? I thought you were teaching Latin, not swim!”

He kisses me and laughs. “Crowley, Simon! You should have been there!” He exclaims, kissing me again. “Natasha is completely absurd! Bloody mad! She blows up better than you did!”

My eyes widen. “Natasha goes off?” I ask. “Then why are you wet?”

“I was so nervous with the fifth years that I started making all these rules and Natasha was completely undermining me. I make one final rule and the classroom starts flooding! Oh, it was brilliant! She’s just like you!”

He moves to kiss me again and I stop him. “Baz, love, you’re still sopping wet. Go change!”

“No,” he says, leaning in just as I duck out from under his arms. He looks like an idiot trying to make out with the air.

“Go and get changed! You’re going to get me wet!” I say, trying hard not to laugh at my stupid gorgeous husband. “I just took a shower!”

He smiles and grabs my wrist, pulling me in. “You look lovely today,” he says, putting his hands on my face.

I furrow my brow. “You’re still wet,” I mumble before just giving in.

**Ebb**

The whole school is buzzing about the splash Papa made in his first class with the year fives. I didn’t figure out it was a pun until I saw all the wet hair underneath the hats and I saw Papa looking completely disheveled in Latin. Ginger says that I should just ignore the promise that I made to Tasha and contribute to the rumor mill. My entire identity is feeling like it’s tearing into two pieces and I’m going to destroy myself if I choose one thing over the other.

I need to talk to someone, but I don’t know who to turn to that isn’t part of those two different worlds that would pull me one way or the other.

**Davy**

I set my sights on your potential, Simon, and you disappointed all of us. You were not meant to be the chosen one, but you’ve given new opportunities to a new generation. Natasha is strong, stronger than you ever were. Her control is unparalleled; neither you nor Basilton could ever dream of having her power.

The Humdrum will return and bring me back to my rightful place as the Great Reformer I was meant to be. And we will come full circle with the death of Natasha Pitch. Or maybe not death. But it would make everything so much easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. What's Summer Snow?
> 
> Water. Haha.


	4. Sunday Roast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No classes on Sunday = the perfect time for the Salisbury-Grimm-Pitch family to get together over a roast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter. Mostly because there's food mentioned. But also because small Natasha is the most adorable thing in the world! And domestic SnowBaz is both disgusting and incredible to write.  
> Again, thank you so much for reading and giving kudos on this crazy world I've decided to create in my (nonexistent) spare time. It means a lot to me!

**Baz**

Sunday is the one day we don’t have classes, but I’m still busy grading papers and planning lessons. The one relief is our new tradition of a roast in the living quarters with Tasha and Ebb. I know Peter looks forward to it, even though this is only the second time we’ve done a Sunday roast at Watford.

“Papa! Papa! Papa!” He shrieks, jumping up and down on the couch. “When are Tosh and Ebb getting here?”

I shake my head and laugh. “Peter, love, can you help your Dad in the kitchen. Papa’s trying to grade papers for his classes.”

Peter plops on the couch. “Dad kicked me out of the kitchen.”

I roll my eyes. When Simon lost his magic, he had to do everything the Normal way and proved to be a truly incredible cook (even though he did almost burn down his and Penny’s apartment down more than once in the process). And I’m so proud of everything that he’s done without his magic. Crowley, I’m still so bloody hopelessly in love with him, even after 20 years. Granted, everything that he’s good at that isn’t magic he gets very protective of. Which can be frustrating at times.

Peter scoots over to my stack of papers. “What is that?” He asks, putting his head on my shoulder.

“These are papers for students. I did a little quiz to see how much they know about Latin!” I say, leaning my head towards Peter’s. “It’s very insightful.”

“Insightful?” He asks.

“It means these quizzes are helpful in understanding the students that I’m teaching.”

“It also means that his students aren’t good at Latin,” Simon interjects from the kitchen.

I look up to see him grinning from the kitchen. “I don’t remember you being particularly good at anything while you were a student, Snow!”

He rolls his eyes. “Crowley, Baz! Use the right name!”

“You still aren’t good at Latin!” I reply, turning back to my papers.

“Why do I need to be good at Latin? That language’s been dead since the beginning of modern time!” He says. “And even if I need Latin, you’re the best there is!”

It all clicks. “Did you happen to tell Natasha that?” I ask, setting my papers down on the coffee table.

He laughs. “Maybe; did she throw that down during your first class where she flooded the class?”

“Yeah?” Simon cheers.

“That’s my girl!” He exclaims.

I stand up. “You can’t tell our kids that Latin is useless, Si!” I walk up to the kitchen. “It completely undermines my position in the school!”

“Isn’t that my thing?” He asks, turning away from the food for a second. “Completely undermining your position at this school? I mean, I’ve been doing that since we were first years and then it just got worse from there. Remember fifth year?”

“Crowley, Snow. Stop talking before...”

And then he kisses me. Of course. The moment is interrupted by a knock at the door.

**Ebb**

Of course I’m excited to see Dad and Peter. Papa’s been hard on all of us in class (granted, none of us actually learned any Latin before Papa came to teach) and I’ve been avoiding Natasha ever since she swore me off of gossiping about our family. I wanted to bring a friend (probably Ginger) to stop things from getting dramatic, but all I got was a no. Natasha is waiting at the door with her roommate Angelica and I can feel steam coming out of my ears. How come Natasha was able to bring a friend to dinner? Why can’t I do the same thing?

“Ebb!” Angelica exclaims. Natasha rolls her eyes and leans against the wall. “I haven’t seen you in a while! How are you? Mum’ll kill me if I don’t ask!”

I don’t know where Angelica’s enthusiasm came from, but it’s probably an American thing. Aunt Penny is never very talkative whenever we come over. Then again she doesn’t usually talk to me. Or I avoid talking to her. Regardless, we don’t talk that much.

“Why is she here?” I ask Tasha.

“My mum sent something for Uncle Baz to congratulate him on his first week of teaching,” Angelica replied, holding up a box of something. “I think it’s something from their Watford days, but I’m not sure.”

Natasha turns and knocks on the door. “Let’s see how long they take. Five quid says they were making out in the kitchen.”

I roll my eyes. “Not betting you anything.”

Peter opens the door with the biggest smile on his face. “Papa! Dad! Tosh and Ebb are here with Angelica!”

Both Dad and Papa rush from out of the kitchen, trying to act like they weren’t just being soft with each other. They may be the strangest married couple I know.

Angelica pulls out a five pound note and sticks in Tasha’s shirt pocket. “You were right!” She says before turning to our parents. “My mum wanted me to give this to you as a welcome back to Watford present!”

Dad takes the box and smiles. “Do want to join us for roast, Angelica? I will not be offended if you want to enjoy the food of Watford!” He says. “It was my favorite part of going here.”

Papa laughs. “Because you were a terrible student!” Dad shoves him out of the doorway.

“Thank you for the invitation, Uncle Simon, but I promised my brother that I’d help him with something over dinner tonight,” she says with a shrug. “I might take you up on that offer sometime in the next few weeks! Something to remind me of home!”

Dad nods. “Of course! Feel free to come over whenever you feel like it! And be sure to thank your mum for us,” he says, pulling me into their living quarters.

Angelica smiles. “Definitely! Enjoy your roast!” And then she walks back down the hall and out of the building. Thank heavens.

“So, what’s in the box?” I ask.

Papa leans against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest. “You not even going to say hello?” He asks.

Natasha glides into the room. “Evening Papa! Evening Dad! Evening Peter!” She says with a half smile. The kind of smile Gran usually wears whenever we go to the Pitch Manor. She lifts Peter up and rests him on her hip as she walks into the living quarters.

“Hi everyone!” I say quickly afterwards. “So what’s in the box?”

“A head,” Papa says without any emotion.

He must have seen the look on my face, so he smiles. “I’m only joking, sweetheart; I don’t know what’s in the box.”

“Knowing Penny, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s some kind of head,” Dad says with a shrug, walking back to the kitchen after closing the door.

“Crowley, Pop!” Tasha says, sitting down with Peter on the couch. “Are these all the Latin quizzes you have to grade?”

He nods. “Some of them are good, most not so much.” Papa moves the papers off the coffee table and into a folder on a bookshelf next to the fireplace. “I’m glad to say that your scores didn’t disappoint. And neither did Angelica’s!”

A knot forms in my stomach. “You graded my quiz already?” I ask.

“And you did better than your entire class,” he says with a smile, “well so far I’ve only graded about half of the first year quizzes.”

Natasha doesn’t pay attention to the fact that Peter is starting to play with her hair. “I assume that you’ve graded the papers for everyone in my year since we are your first class tomorrow!” She says.

“Your year is far ahead of where we were in our fifth year!” Papa replies with a smile. “Which means that we can have a little bit more fun!”

I pout. “What’s so fun about Latin?”

“What isn’t fun about Latin?” Natasha asks me, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s the spirit!” Papa says, sitting down on the couch next to my sister and her new sky-high hair. They high five and are officially the strangest people that I know. “How have your classes been so far, Ebb?”

“They’re fine, I guess,” I say, sitting in the oversized armchair from home Dad brought with him. “I just wish that I could’ve brought a friend with me, that’s all.”

I can tell Natasha is annoyed with my social interactions, but Papa seems neutral on it. “Five minutes at Watford and she’s already embarrassed by her crazy family! Who would’ve thought!”

“I wouldn’t be so embarrassed if you just let me tell everyone about us!” I shoot back, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Merlin, Eberneza! You’re being so melodramatic!” Tasha exclaims. “All I said was not to gossip and spread rumors!”

Papa laughs. “Wait, Ebb is gossiping?” He asks Tasha.

She shrugs and stares me down. “She was about to tell a completely overwrought version of you and Dad’s first kiss to a bunch of first years!” She says. “I thought it would be better if you told that story when you felt comfortable and got distracted in class!”

“Distracted?” He asks as if he’s been convicted of murder. “I never get distracted class!”

I raise my eyebrows. “Didn’t you help Tasha stop flooding the classroom?”

Peter stands on the couch. “Natasha flooded a classroom?” He asks, his blue eyes wide open. “How’d you do that?”

“The roast is done!” Dad yells from the kitchen. “Grab a plate kids!”

**Natasha**

Peter lets go of my hair (which has become a bizarre asymmetrical bird’s nest shape) and runs to the kitchen. Everything in the living quarters is both smaller and larger than our townhouse in London. For one, the ceilings are lower and the lights are dimmer but at the same time, all the dark wood is more intricately carved and the windows seem to take up the whole wall, which I would assume allows in more light during the summer months. I don't know. I'm hungry, and I can't think straight to save my life (ha ha ha! Bisexuality puns!).

Dad’s cooking has gotten exponentially better through the years. I remember the first time that he ventured into cooking a roast. Ebb wasn’t even born yet, and we lived in a tiny flat in London that we could barely move around in. Papa invested in a Crock-Pot as an early Christmas present to all of us, so Dad decided he wanted to tackle roast on his day off and surprise Papa when he got home.

“So, Natasha?” He asked me, spooning some beef into my mouth that was somehow dry, over sauced, and slimy all at the same time. “What do you think?”

I spat it out onto the counter and stuck my tongue out. “Ewwwwww!” I said, kicking my legs. “That’s gross, Daddy!”

He raised an eyebrow and took a forkful for himself, but immediately spit it out into the sink.

I started shrieking with laughter. “See!” I said. “I told you it was gross!”

“What’s gross, pumpkin?” Papa asked me, kissing my cheek and lifting me off the counter. He had just come home from work and looked tired but played it off well.

“Daddy made a roast and it’s gross!” I replied, squirming in his arms.

Dad sighed and leaned into a strange group hug. “I wanted to surprise you when you got home for our anniversary, but I must have misread the recipe. I’m sorry, love.”

Papa laughed. “Don’t apologize for making our daughter say the word gross! And it doesn’t smell that bad and you haven’t burned the flat down, so in a way, it’s not a complete failure!”

There was a strange pause where I looked from Papa to Dad, both of whom were staring at the Crock Pot full of garbage. “So, we ordering a takeaway?”

“Ordering a takeaway!” Papa handed me over Dad and pulled out his phone from his suit jacket pocket.

I giggled, snuggling into Dad’s chest. “Can we have a pizza, Papa?” I asked Papa. “I want pizza!”

“Simon?” Papa asked.

Dad shrugged.

“Right. Pizza it is!”

I cheer. Dad leaned over to kiss Papa but was shut down immediately. “Oof! Natasha was right! That roast is rank! Both of you need to brush your teeth!”

Dad set me back down on the counter and leaned into Papa. “It’s our anniversary, Baz. I thought you’d kiss me no matter what!”

“Not when you smell like rotten eggs! And when did I say that I’d kiss you no matter what?”

Of course, Dad pulled mistletoe out of his back pocket, held it over Papa, and kissed him.

“Ewwwww! You’re kissing! That’s gross!” I shrieked.

Papa turned to me and laughed. “It is gross because the last thing your Daddy ate was that gross roast!”

Of course, after twelve years and hundreds of roasts, Dad has finally gotten to a point where he can just throw everything into a pot and let the food work its own magic. And it may damn well be the most delicious thing on the planet. It’s odd to sit around the table having a roast during the middle of October and ask Peter to hand you the bread basket (with rolls clearly stolen from the kitchens) (or maybe just taken; I think Papa is still friends with Cook Prichard from his days at Watford). Usually, Sundays are filled with terrifying last minute studying for classes the next day and maybe a football match or two. I’m sure it’s not that strange for Ebb and Peter, but I’m in my fifth year at Watford and haven’t had a family dinner during the school year in nearly five years.

“Where’d you get the money, Tasha?” Dad asked, pointing at my shirt pocket.

I look down and try not to laugh at the five pound note. “It’s nothing.”

“She bet Angelica five quid that you were making out in the kitchen when she knocked the door,” Ebb says, narrowing her eyes at me like there’s some unspoken competition on who can embarrass each other more.

Papa snorts. “Natasha!” He says, trying to act all angry but failing miserably.

I take the money out of my shirt pocket and stuff it into my bra. “If there was one thing that I could change about Watford, it’s that the skirts would have pockets! Or the girls could at least wear trousers.”

“You sound like Penny!” Dad says, stuffing a large piece of roast in his mouth. Papa sneers at him, but Dad simply tilts his head and shrugs.

“But it’s true!” I reply, slathering butter onto a dinner roll I’d already mopped up some roast juice with (or jus, I guess. But who needs fancy French words when you can just say roast juice and make everyone around you cringe?). “Girls don’t have any place to put anything unless we want to carry around a bag all day!”

Ebb nods so enthusiastically her blonde hair seems to bobble all over the place. “It’s so annoying!” She says, tilting her head back. “And then when you think that the jackets have pockets, the seams are all sewn shut!”

“Thank you!” I exclaim. “You all never had to deal with this because your uniform was trousers and only trousers! Even in the Normal world, men’s trousers have larger and more spacious pockets than everything offered in the women’s section combined!”

“So other than advocating for Headmistress Bunce to change some of the uniform policies, how was everyone’s week?” Papa says, nodding.

Dad swallows a mouthful of food. “I visited Ebb’s grave in the Wavering Wood yesterday.”

Ebb and Peter looked completely confused. “But I’m not dead! Not yet, anyhow.”

“You might never die,” I say, cutting a cooked carrot with my fork. “You are at least a third vampire.”

Which is technically true: Papa is a vampire, and we have proven to be his biological children through a spit test. But we are also biologically related to Dad and our surrogate mum, Agatha (which I have no idea why she agreed to be our surrogate mum, but she agreed and here we are). But none of us have ever felt the need to drain anything of its blood so I guess the two-thirds of my siblings and me that are human outweigh the third that is vampire. Although I am allergic to silver, but that might just be an allergy and not a vampire thing. I just think the whole “who’s related to who” thing is messy and complicated and completely unnecessary. I am the daughter of Simon Snow and T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch and that is that.

Dad laughs gently. “Not your grave, Ebb; the woman you were named after: the goatherd when your Papa and I were at Watford.” I thought that Ebb knew all of this before (they told me her namesake the day they figured out what her name should be), but apparently she doesn’t know. Rather, she didn’t know.

“I’m named after a goatherd?”

“One of the most powerful magicians of her generation,” Papa says, lazily pointing his fork at Ebb. “She sacrificed herself for your Dad and Agatha and was one of the greatest people in the whole school.”

“I probably would’ve worked with her when we graduated if the whole Humdrum thing hadn’t happened,” Dad says, looking at his food. She turned her attention to me.

“Did you know that I was named after a goatherd?!”

“Well, yeah,” I say, before popping a carrot into my mouth. “They figured out your first name and then told me I could pick out your middle name.”

Papa nudges me with his elbow. “You did a good job with it, too. Eberneza Rainbow Snow Salisbury-Grimm-Pitch.”

“How is it fair that she was named after the youngest headmistress of Watford’s history and I am named after a bloody goatherd!” Ebb continued, starting to turn bright pink.

“Because they were both the most important women in our lives, Eberneza!” Dad yells, slamming his fist on the table. He suddenly begins radiating a glowing green color and it feels like the heating has been cranked up. “What don’t you understand about that?”

“Love,” Papa says softly, taking Dad’s clenched fist into his hands and kissing it, “Your magic is glowing again.”

I blink and the green cloud is gone and the room is back to its normal temperature.

“What just happened?” I ask.

Dad hangs his head in defeat. “My magic is coming back.”

**Davy**

Have you ever been buried alive? 

No, let me rephrase that. Have you ever been buried alive in an unmarked grave? It’s bad enough to wake up six feet under with all your hopes and dreams forgotten. It’s worse to wake knowing that you were a person no one cared to remember.

Granted, I wasn’t alive, Simon. You should know. You were the damn fool that killed me. Alas, I woke up in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere. The person that found me I nearly killed; I thought he was a member of the Coven set to sink my legacy further into the ground and into the depths of Hell. But he then explained to me that he didn’t think my work was finished. Not yet, at least.

I agreed with him. My work could never be finished in a world where I was buried alive in an unmarked grave.

That was five years ago. So much has changed since then. You’re welcome for your magic, by the way. I know that was the thing you loved the most, more than anything in the world. More than Wellbelove or Mitali Bunce’s girl. You valued magic. It was the only reason you thought you mattered. You told me so in your days at Watford. 

**Simon**

The best thing about Natasha is that you can see her think. Even when her mouth is hanging open and is completely speechless, you can still see that her mind is running a thousand miles per minute. Just like Baz. She’s so much like him; she’s got his eyes, hair, and cocky, arrogant swagger. But she’s got my magic and that’s even bigger than what she looks like. I’m so scared for her.

“But I thought you gave up your magic?” Ebb says, speaking Natasha’s thoughts out loud. “When you saved everyone from the Humdrum?”

I can see Tasha start to shrink back into her seat.

“Honey, are you okay?”

She laughs a little to cover up the tears she’s holding back. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine, Dad.” She says. “You have your magic back! How long have you known?”

Natasha is not fine. She tries to act strong when she’s just a teenager. She’s just a little girl trying to figure out her place in the mess I created. And it’s breaking my heart.

I stand up and walk around the table to hug Tasha and kiss her hair. “I’m so sorry,” I tell her. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Dad, get off of me! It’s fine,” she says. “Really, I’m fine.”

“Why is she getting an apology?” Ebb asks. “I’m named after a goatherd, and she’s getting an apology?”

She’s getting on my final shreds of patience, and I think Baz can tell because he gets up out of his seat to talk with her and Peter.

I crouch down next to Tasha. “Honey, look at me,” I say.

She doesn’t, but I continue anyway. “I’m sorry you got my magic. But if you need to blame someone, blame the Mage. Okay? He may be my biological father and his blood may be flowing through your veins, but he was an awful person who tried to manufacture a savior and he got me instead. This whole thing is his fault. Not mine. Especially not yours.”

“I was going to tell you about my magic when we had tea the day you and Peter arrived,” she says, still looking down at her plate. “It kind of bubbled up when I was trying to tell Ebb not to gossip about you. I even told Angelica that I needed to talk to you and then I never did.”

“Natasha,” I say, hugging her again. She collapses into me and off of her chair, nearly knocking me over. Baz rushes over to see if everything’s okay. I give him a thumbs up and he nods and returns his focus to Ebb and Peter.

Tasha looks up at me and laughs. “Of course I got your magic!”

“Well, you flood things,” I say. “I set things on fire. You think, I don’t. Maybe we can learn from each other.”

She frowns and sits back up on her chair. “Maybe. Or…”

Her eyes drift over to Baz. “He kept me from flooding the classroom.”

“And he kept me from killing a dragon!”

“You almost killed a dragon? What happened when you were in school?”

“Sometimes I can’t even remember all of the crazy shit that happened when we were in school,” I say. “You know unless it contained some sort of mythical creature. Or a threat to the World of Mages.”

We’re both still staring at Baz, who looks up at us confused.

“What?” He asks.

“Papa,” Natasha starts, “can we ask you for a favor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are happening! More things will be happening soon.
> 
> I've written so much of this fanfic already. I'm hoping to get more consistent uploading in the next few weeks since I'll have more time.


	5. The Sword of Mages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon opens the package along with a whole new can of worms that comes along with it, including embarrassing Natasha in the middle of Latin.  
> Agatha begins the potentially most awkward wedding weekend of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading the past chapters and giving me kudos and comments! Keep doing that! It really helps a girl out!  
> Ebb is going to disappear for the next couple of chapters but she's going to be back soon.  
> But we also get a whole lot of flashbacks. Like so many flashbacks. I take full responsibility for any whiplash that may occur because of the series of flashbacks in this chapter.  
> And I apologize in advance for how many double entendres there are going to be. (Hint: they are many, and they may be dirty.)
> 
> Also! First major swear word of the series aside from what we've done so far!

**Penelope**

I hate keeping secrets. But I’m even worse when it comes to never breaking a promise. Especially when the promise is to an old friend.

“You think they got the package?” Agatha asks me, sipping on a cup of tea. She’s taken up Angelica’s room when she turned up last week with a large suitcase and a one way ticket from Los Angeles.

“I heard that Baz got a teaching position at Watford,” she said, eyes wide and looking more desperate than I had ever seen her. “And I found something that I think Simon might need. Just don’t tell anyone that I’m here until I figure out where I’m staying.”

Micah helped her with her luggage and we both helped her get settled. “So what did you find?” He asked her.

She pulled a thin parcel out of a small compartment of her suitcase. “I was walking along the beach in Santa Monica one night when I saw something shimmering in the water. And then it started calling out for someone but there was no one around, so I followed the sound until I came across this.” Agatha gently unwrapped the paper and held something that I thought I would never see again.

“The Sword of Mages?!” I exclaimed, nearly spilling tea on myself as I stood up to inspect it. “How long has it been?”

“Twenty years,” she says softly. “Christmas Day, 2015. The worst day of my entire life.”

Micah nodded. “The day the world ended.” Agatha gave him a funny look. “What? Just because I wasn’t there doesn’t mean I don’t know what happened!”

“I know,” she said, “it’s just strange to phrase it that way. Makes it sound apocalyptic.”

I shrug. “It was kind of apocalyptic, if you think about it. All that fire. Lion laying with the lamb.”

Agatha rolls her eyes. “Who’s the lion and who’s the lamb?”

“Either one of them, if you think about it for too long.”

We all fall silent as we look over the sword. It’s still shimmering with some remaining magic even after twenty years. Even when he didn’t need it, Simon always made headway with that damn sword; he knew how to use it better than his own wand.

“So how the hell are we going to ship it to them?” I asked.

“I’m a little more concerned on how the hell you got a broadsword through American security?” Micah asked. “But I guess if you can smuggle that through the British border, shipping’ll be no problem.”

“Penny?” Agatha asks, snapping me out of a flashback.

“Right, yeah,” I reply. “Angelica texted me yesterday saying that they got it. Whether they opened it or not is a different story.”

She nods. “Let’s just hope it’s opened sooner than later; that spell isn’t going to hold long.”

**Simon**

On school days, I look after Peter and take him around the school unless I have meetings, but he didn’t feel good this morning so I let him sleep in. So I clean up dinner from last night and prep for the teleconference.

Then I see the box Angelica gave us sitting up on a high bookshelf (Baz likes to passive-aggressively remind us all that he’s the tallest). It looks normal, but knowing Penny, whatever’s in there is anything but. And it sounds like it’s calling out to me in a hushed whisper that I can barely hear.

“Simon…” It says. “Simon Snow…”

I pull a pair of scissors from a pencil can and slowly cut the tape. Light glows from where the tape is cut and I open the box. “Holy shit!”

**Agatha**

Penny drove me from Heathrow to the mansion in the countryside. It was good to see her but she wouldn’t shut up; if there’s anything more talkative than Penny on a normal day, it’s Bridezilla Penny. She was understandably nervous since we were all still so young and Micah’s was still in medical school. And she wouldn’t stop talking.

When we pulled up to the house after driving down the gravel driveway, there’s other people running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Penny handed my bag and dress bag to a bellboy and shows me the way in. Inside, the chaos was more concentrated. Headmistress Bunce was barking directions and casting spells to decorate the main hall as I followed the bellboy towards the rooms. Which we promptly walked past before exiting the building in favor of a small cottage in the back. The bellboy opened the door to reveal a gorgeous loft style room with beds and couches and all sorts of cozy furnishings. 

“Baz, for the last time, I am not tucking my tail into my pants! We’ve been over this!” A familiar voice exclaimed, sounding totally irritated. “And it’s not like I’ll be the center of attention! I could have my wings out and it wouldn’t be the craziest thing at the ceremony!”

A door slammed and Simon and Baz tumbled into the scene. “Hi, Agatha!” Simon said passively before both of them did a double take. “Agatha!”

The bellboy has disappeared and I am left in a room with my ex and his boyfriend (who I broke up with the former for). “Hey Simon. Baz.”

I wasn’t quite sure where we stood since we all last saw each other three years ago. Christmas Day 2015: the worst day of my entire life. The day the world ended. I hadn’t stepped on British soil since that day when Ebb told me to run. And I did — all the way to California.

Baz nodded at me while Simon looked like he was holding himself from doing something. “So you’re in the bridal party too?” He asked instead.

“Yep!” I said, holding up the garment bag with my dress in it. “Just got this back from the tailor’s before I left.”

There was an awkward silence. I don’t know what I expected when I agreed to be a bridesmaid for Penny. But really should have anticipated that Simon at least would be there. And with Simon, Baz was always a part of the equation.

“You look nice,” Simon said. “Very tan.”

I nodded. “Spend most of my days off on the beach.”

Silence. Again.

“I need closure on this,” Baz said suddenly. “Do you still think that I’m evil?”

Simon tugged on Baz’s coat sleeve. I slung my bag off my shoulder and started taking off my gloves. “I said some awful stuff before I left,” I said, nodding and looking down at my gloves.

“Never to my face,” Baz said cooly. 

“Baz,” Simon said, almost cooing. “Please.”

I shook my head and took off my hat. “Simon, it’s fine,” I said before turning to Baz and looking him in the eye. “I don’t think you’re evil Baz. I trust you more than I did then, but that’s not much.”

“Good,” he said, “because I need your help.”

“Why?” “Penny asked me to write a speech for the reception and it’s complete shit,” Baz said, promptly pulling out a piece of paper from his coat pocket.

**Baz**

I’m over the one week hump. I know it’s going to get worse when exams come around and every single student is cursing my name (which would not be that different from my Watford days, quite frankly), but I’ve hit my stride. Students feel comfortable talking with me and are asking brilliant questions. It might just be me, but I think that these kids are smarter than my generation. Granted, we had Simon Snow, so everyone thought that they could ease up since the world was coming to an end. The fifth years are also in awe of me after that first class. They also won’t mess with Tasha, but all they want to know is how I managed to stop the flooding. I try my best to steer the conversations away from all the mad things that I’ve done in my life, but the kids know what they want. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I’ve settled on both for now.

“Is it true that you hated Simon Snow?” A student (Gregory Archer, I think his name is though I’m not quite sure since I have to memorize the names of all eight years) asks before class starts. “And that you were roommates.”

“Nah,” Natasha interrupts. “They were roommates but Simon hated Baz, err, Professor Pitch! And it’s Simon Salisbury now! He got Visited by his biological mother in August!”

Archer looks utterly dumbfounded. “And how would you know that?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Angelica bursts out. “She’s known them both for fifteen years!”

Tasha aggressively elbows Angelica in the side as Archer widens his eyes. “Wait, are you all related?” Half of the class laughs and I clap my hands, trying to gain everyone’s attention so that we can start class on time.

“Right! If you would all please stop discussing my lineage, we should be beginning class!”

“Wait, Pitch,” Archer exclaims. “You’re his daughter?”

“Archer! Leave the girl alone!” Angelica replies. “Everyone knows!”

“Everyone knows what?”

I bite down a laugh as I turn to the chalkboard behind me (even though its 2035 and most Normal schools have phased out SmartBoards in favor of whatever new technology replaced it) where I’ve written out the phonetic versions of the Latin words we would be covering in class. “Professor Pitch” is still written in the top left-hand corner, which not only reminds the students whose class they’re in but also allows me to locate my chalkboard in case anyone tries to use it in order to track down their late mother’s killer. The latter was highly unlikely, but I wouldn’t hold it against my daughters to begin plotting and proceed to argue that they never stole the chalkboard since it had their name written on it. If such a situation should occur, Simon would be furious and I would take the two of them out for hot fudge sundaes and a movie. Though depending on the timing, it might be the other way around.

**Natasha**

Papa’s laughing at himself again while Greg and Angelica are arguing over who’s related to who. I think he saw his name on the blackboard again and remembered the time he magicked one through Mummer’s and up to his room. Rather him and Dad’s room. It’s bizarre to think that our parents were kids once who absolutely despised one another when they’re the biggest displayers of PDA the world, nay, the universe has ever seen!

Class started and I’m not paying attention since I’ve already learned all of this. Papa knows that, but it doesn’t stop him from looking over at me every so often to check that I’m not completely zoned out. But then out of no where, someone bursts into the room.

“Baz!” Dad yells, looking frantic while holding a sword that seemed to be glowing with magic. “I know you’re in a class but…”

Papa freezes. “Is that what I think…?”

Dad shrugs. “Yeah.”

Everyone (myself included) is completely baffled into an awkward silence.

Dad turns around and sees me. “So I see you have the fifth years first thing Monday mornings! I know Tasha told us that, but fifth years!” He chuckles. “Good luck!”

“Students, this is my good-for-nothing husband, Simon!” Papa says, breaking the silence. I cover my face with my hands in embarrassment. “It seems that he’s forgotten that this is a secondary school and has brought an item in for show and tell!”

My head hits the desk with a loud thunk but no one seems to notice.

**Simon**

I feel bad for embarrassing Tasha in front of all of her peers, but a Dad’s gotta do what a Dad’s gotta do. So I put on a show.

“This, dear students, is the Sword of Mages!” I exclaim, jumping into a fighting stance. “It’s the preferred weapon of the Mage until twenty years ago when I accidentally killed my father!”

Baz is looking at me like I’m crazy (which I am) while all but one of the students are utterly spellbound by my performance. Chatter goes flies around the room but it’s quiet enough that I continue.

“A prized weapon I used on many occasions to save the life of one Professor Pitch!” I’m pronouncing my words as dramatically as possible while shooting Baz a not so subtle wink.

“You wish, Snow!” He says, rolling his eyes and walking back to the blackboard. “I’m the one who saved you from killing a dragon eighth year, remember?”

I lower my sword. “Salisbury!”

“I’m aware, Snow. Bad habits die hard!”

“Aren’t you the one that set a chimera on me third year?”

He laughs. “Yeah. You went off and it was cute.”

Tasha’s banging her head against the desk she’s sitting at. Clearly Baz has caught onto the secret game that I’ve been playing.

**Baz**

Crowley, I wish I knew what game he was playing. But whatever it is, Tasha banging her head on her desk in embarrassment and Simon is grinning like the idiot he is.

“But I did save you in eighth year,” he responded.

“Again, I saved you from killing a dragon.”

He grins almost evilly. “That’s not the kind of sword that I was referring to, Baz.”

Natasha stands up and begins pushing Simon out of the room. “I think that’s enough friendly banter for a single class period! Don’t you have a younger brother of mine to look after, Dad? See you later!”

Simon opens his mouth to object but closes it in order to avoid looking like a fish. The class has broken out into eager whispers and chatter that I have to remind myself to reprimand them for when Snow is gone. (Salisbury. I know.)

“Natasha! I was joking!”

“Oh, you’ve done enough joking for today! We’re in Latin. I’ll see you never!” She shuts the door behind a struggling Simon and it’s quite the sight for sore eyes. Tasha turns back around to see everyone staring at her (myself included).

“Well am I wrong?” She asks. “This is a Latin class! Not a show off your sword class!”

I nod, biting down a laugh. “There are important matters that I do need to attend to first. I will take no longer than five minutes. Angelica, I’m placing you in charge while I am gone!” I say before rushing out of the classroom and find Simon waiting in the hall, still holding that damn sword.

“Where the hell did you find that?” I ask as soon as the door closes behind me.

He shrugs. “It was in the box Penny gave Angelica.”

“So have you texted her?”

Simon’s eyes go wide for a moment before handing me the sword and pulling his phone out of his pocket to frantically text his best friend of almost thirty years.

“Simon, I have a class to teach! I am not going to stand out here holding your fucking broadsword while you text Penny to tell her that you’ve received said broadsword!”

He looks up at me incredulously. “It’s not just my fucking broadsword, Baz. It’s the Sword of Mages! It’s been missing for the last…”

“Twenty years. I know that, love.”

“And when I was opening the box,” he trails off and looks into the distance almost dramatically. “Baz, it was whispering my name. You don’t think that’s some sort of coincidence, right? I mean, first my magic starts coming back and now I have the Sword of Mages? Without having to summon it even!”

Even I have to admit that seems that there’s an odd plot afoot. A thought enters into my head, one that I’m too afraid to say out loud.

“Do you think that this has anything to do with the people who took you?” I ask, dropping into a voice that even I can barely hear.

But he hears me. And he shrugs. Of course.

“I dunno. It’d make sense since all of it seems to be connected to him.”

I can’t help but groan. The last thing that I ever want to happen is for the fucking Mage to show up and ruin everything that we've worked so hard to rebuild over the last twenty years. And I certainly don’t want our kids to be tangled in a mess of his creation. It's awful. And he would probably come after Natasha since she has more magic and control than Simon ever did...

“Hey,” Simon says, snapping me out of my spiraling, “we can talk about this later, okay? Go teach your class. I’ll see if Peter has woken up yet…”

I suddenly straighten up. “Peter hasn’t woken up yet? Is he feeling okay?”

“He wasn’t feeling well this morning, so I let him sleep in. Besides, I had a teleconference with the agency that I didn’t want him to interrupt.”

Simon and the agency. If I didn’t know any better, it’d sound like he’s in a band. But instead, he works with kids that haven’t had the best experience in life so far. I know it’s essentially his dream job and I hate transplanting him at Watford especially after all that happened.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be in London? We still have the townhouse, and I’m sure that we could all visit on weekends after classes,” I start. “I can call the daycare again to take Peter when you’re working.”

He shakes his head. “No. It doesn’t matter. I’m high enough in the agency that I don’t need to be chained to London. This is more important! You teaching at Watford? You’ve wanted this since before we were in school!”

“Where on Earth did you hear a thing like that?”

“I didn’t need anyone to tell me, Baz. You were always talking about how your mother would run things and how you could do a better job than the Mage…”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t remember saying such things.” He looks at me with the goddamn blue eyes I fell in love with (I’m still in love with them). “Baz. Don’t you remember what I told you when you told me about the job offer?”

**Simon**

I know he remembers. At least, I remember it. It was the first moment where it was just the two of us in nearly sixteen years. Baz had just gotten off the phone with the Coven. I assumed that they were just calling to check in with us after the kidnapping. Or that’s what I thought until his face looked paler than usual.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” He said, looking right at me. It’s not often that Baz looks out of control. It’s even rarer that he looks out of control when talking on the phone. “I’m honored, but I…uh…I have to check with my husband. I’ll let you know.”

I was leaning against the doorframe that led into the kitchen. Thank God, because I don’t know what I would’ve done when Baz turned to me with that look on his face like he was going to break down and cry at any second.

“Simon. I don’t know what to do,” He said, eyes wide, phone still in hand. “I was just offered a job at Watford.”

I blinked. “What?”

“The Latin teacher died and Headmistress Bunce submitted my name for the position to the Coven,” He said, sitting down at a barstool (that I managed to get at Ikea on sale!) (Not the point. But it was thirty percent off the original price _and_ Baz liked them! It was a fucking miracle!). He put his head into his hands. “I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

I walked into the kitchen and leant over the counter across from him. “What’s holding you back, love?”

Baz rolled his eyes and propped his head up with his hands. “We have lives in London. Peter has friends and school. You have work. I have work.”

“Bullshit, Baz. I know you hate your job!” I exclaimed suddenly.

He sat up, looking confused. “What? Simon? I don’t hate my job. I generally dislike it but it provides a good paycheck to support us.”

That’s what set me over the edge. “And I have an even better paying job at the agency. You’ve been up for a promotion for the last, what, three years? Everyone there is pretentious and awful; I know because you’ve dragged me to those fucking Christmas parties so that you could have an excuse to leave early!

“You’re entire family practically has lived and breathed by teaching at Watford! You need to get out of that goddamn bank and start working where you belong and where people will understand that you’re a genius!” I walked behind him and squeezed his shoulders. “And if you’re worried about me, I’ll figure something out because I actually like my job. It’s time that you like yours.”

“I’m a vampire.”

I shook my head. “That never stopped you before. And we’ll ask Cook Pritchard to stock the kitchens with pigs blood.”

He slouches over again. “What if I’m no good. What if everyone hates me.”

“Are you hearing yourself?” I asked, gentler than before. “You are Basilton fucking Pitch, the hardest working prick that I’ve ever met in my entire life. You are good at everything you do, despite how much it annoyed me when we were in school. And everyone at Watford knows who you are. How much cooler could it be than to learn one of the most boring subjects in the entire world from one of the men who took down the Mage and the Humdrum.”

“Give yourself some credit, Snow. You destroyed both of them.”

I shrugged. “I would correct you on my last name but that’s not important right now. I wouldn’t have been able to do any of that shit if I didn’t have you.”

He turned around and took my hand in his. “Are you telling me to take the job?”

“Is that not what I’ve been saying?” I asked.

Baz narrowed his eyes slightly. “I heard a lot of Normal swearing, you singing my praises.”

“Shut up and take the damn job, you imbecile!” I exclaimed.

“Imbecile! I’m not sure if I’m more impressed that you know the word or that you used it correctly!” He said.

And then I kissed him. Mostly to make him shut up. Another part of me just wanted to. He did save my life that day, after all.

So he took the damn job and he became the quick favorite of all Watford students. And I couldn’t be prouder. I also probably shouldn’t have interrupted his class with the sword.

“Get back in there. I’ll see you later,” I say, taking the sword back, winking, and beginning to walk away. “We’ll talk about my sword, if you want.”

Baz grabs my wrist. “I love you, you absolute nightmare.”

I blush. “Love you too.”

**Penelope**

I show text chain to Agatha. “He definitely has it. Apparently the whole fifth year of Watford knows he has it.” I laugh.

She nods, staring at the wall in front of her intently. “Good.”

“Are you sure that you’re okay? You’ve been really quiet since you’ve come back,” I ask her, sitting next to her on the bed. I don’t understand Ang’s choices in wall decorations (posters of constellations and the 2016 revival cast of _Falsettos_ isn’t something that you see in every teenager’s room.) (At least it’s cleaner than Elijah’s.) but Agatha doesn’t seem to mind. Which is strange, to say the least; she always has some sort of opinion on everything.

There’s pain in Agatha’s face. Eberneza looks like her; it’s uncanny. I know that it shouldn’t affect my opinion of an eleven year old but it hurts to look at her sometimes. Agatha made some really stupid decisions over the years and there was always a reminder of her that travelled around with Simon and Baz.

“Penny,” she starts slowly, tears welling up in her eyes, “I’ve made a terrible mistake. The worst mistake of my entire life. I don’t know if I’ll be able to forgive myself for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Micah and Penny named their son Elijah. Yes, it sounds a lot like "Eliza." No, I did not plan for the 2035 Bunce clan to have offshoot names of all the Schuyler Sisters.
> 
> I hope to be posting more now that I'm officially on winter break, but it may also be slow because of homework and polishing college applications XD (i don't even know who i am anymore)


	6. Just No Time At All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is moving slowly at Watford. It couldn't be a better time for Simon and Natasha's first lesson in magickal control. But control isn't the only thing on Natasha's mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this is a lot of character development. Like, more than normal. However, I am feeling a little less modernist today as there is only one flashback!
> 
> Also: I talked about how I was a musical nerd at the beginning of this story...there are so many references that I'm sure that I haven't even caught them all.

**Baz**

The day doesn’t go by fast enough.

**Ebb**

I’ve never felt a day move so slowly.

**Angelica**

It may be my fault that everything’s moving at the tempo of “Still Hurting.”

**Simon**

Oh, Natasha. What did you do this time?

**Natasha**

I tried “As You Were” and “Nonsense” and “Time Flies!” and every other spell I could think of to try and speed up time to its normal pace. But the day kept dragging on with no direction or purpose like a bad lecture. I didn’t mean to go off. Sometimes things just happen. Accidents. Mistakes. I try not to make them but my magic is getting harder and harder to control.

When I said, “slow down” to Angelica, I didn’t mean to make time nearly stand still. All I wanted was to have her talk at the rate of a normal human being. Of course, none of us at Watford are Normal, but it would be nice to know what my roommate is telling me every once in a while. (Aside from the astrology nonsense. That’s something I wish I could speed through so that I could nod and move on with my day.)

Of all days to make long, I had to pick the day were Dad and I would learn to control our magic. Or, rather, start learning to control our bizarre magic. For the record, I have been looking forward to this since Papa agreed to help us Sunday night. It’s Wednesday and this day already feels like a year. Maybe even a decade. Of course I don’t know what it’s like to live through a decade since I’ve only gone through one and a half and I don’t remember most of it. The three of us agreed to meet at four o’clock sharp. It’s been 3:25 for what feels like an hour. And apparently I finished all of my homework for the week in twenty five minutes.

“I’m headed out!” I announce, grabbing my wand and my book bag off my desk.

“Headed to magic control with Professor Pitch?” Angelica asks, continuing to type away at her laptop.

I nod and readjust my boater (which has got to be just about the dumbest hat in the world!). “Don’t wait up. Sorry for slowing the day down!” I yell.

I think she tries to yell out a justification or an apology, but the door closes before I can hear it. I jog down the stairs and walk out of the Cloisters. Outside, everyone is complaining and dragging their feet on the grass and paved paths. Someone complains that because the day is moving so slowly, dinnertime will never come. Thankfully, the spell is only centralized in Watford and not all across the UK so not everyone is as miserable as we are. So I try to ignore the groaning and complaining. I arrive at the living quarters and knock on the door.

Peter answers, his eyes as wide as saucers. “Tosh!” He exclaims, jumping up and down. “What are you doing here? This day is going too slow!”

I scoop him up onto my hip (but he’s getting too heavy for me to do that without completely throwing out my back). “I’m here to talk with Dad and Papa.”

He scrambles out of my arms, golden curls completely messy and strewn all over his face. “Papa! Daddy! Tosh is here!”

Dad randomly appears from out of a doorway dressed in a nice button down with a tie paired with old trackies. Video conference attire, probably. “You’re early!” He exclaims.

“Are you that surprised?” Papa says in another room. “Natasha’s always been early!”

I laugh to myself. It’s been a family inside joke since the day I was born: August 14. A full five weeks before I was due. And I apparently scared the living hell out of Agatha and Papa. Dad really didn’t know what to do in that situation so he was the one sane person in the room when I was born. At least that’s what I’ve been told.

“I couldn’t help it!” I retort. “Time’s been moving so slowly today and I couldn’t stay in one place for so long!”

Papa emerged, looking quite casual for once in a t-shirt and jeans. I know that he tries to hide it, but it’s kind of ridiculous how flustered Dad gets when Papa goes casual. I roll my eyes as Peter tugs on the hem of my skirt.

“What’s wrong, Peter?” I ask.

“Time is moving slow for you, too?” He asks me with these giant blue eyes that are far too big and far too adorable.

**Baz**

Natasha begins to stall. “Uh…yeah. Time is moving slow for everyone at Watford, Peter!”

Simon steps forward. “Do you have something to tell us about the time moving slowly, Natasha?” He asks.

She fidgets and tries to make herself smaller, adjusting the strap on her book bag and looking down at her shoes. Everything clicks into place. It’s very clear that Natasha doesn’t even need to answer the question.

“Have you tried any spells to correct it?” I ask firmly, not trying to be mean or insensitive.

“As you were, nonsense. I think I sang the chorus of “Time Warp” at one point,” she mutters, shaking her head.

I have to stop myself from laughing. “The chorus of “Time Warp,” eh?” I repeat.

She nods with the most concerned look on her face.

“Did you do the dance moves with it?” Simon asks with all seriousness. I’m beginning to lose it. Poor Peter had no idea whatsoever of what’s going on.

The wheels in Natasha’s brain start turning. “I think so? I don’t think I did it correctly, though. My words didn’t turn into magic that time,” she says, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

I shake my head. “Crowley, Natasha! I thought you would have gone a little more contemporary than Rocky Horror! That came out before _Simon_ was born.”

Simon punches me in the arm. “Hey! I’m not that much older than you!” He exclaims before guiltily muttering: “And Rocky Horror Picture Show is a cult classic that I snuck out to watch after curfew at the care home before eighth year.”

Natasha’s jaw drops to the ground. “No way!” She exclaims. “You snuck out…I always thought that you were the rule follower!”

I finally laugh. “Oh, Natasha. There is so much for you to learn!”

She droops a little, shoulders slouching forward, bottom lip pouting out slightly. There’s no way that she learned that from me; Pitches have always had incredible posture. Simon’s a terrible influence on our children.

“Natasha,” Simon chastises, walking over to her, “just because you have a lot to learn doesn’t mean that you aren’t miraculously smart.”

Peter starts jumping up and down. “Am I smart, Daddy?” He asks eagerly. I honestly don’t know how he still has any energy after how long this day has been.

“Absolutely, Peter!” Simon replies enthusiastically to his mini me. (It’s terrifying in the middle of the night when Peter asks for water or a bedtime story because he looks exactly like…you know…the Humdrum.) (But far more alive and well fed and less demonic.) (Most of the time.) “You are the smartest son I have.”

Peter tilts his head. “I’m your only son.”

Natasha cackles, and for a split second she looks exactly like Fiona. But only for a split second, as I blink and Fiona is gone.

“Yep. I deserved that,” Simon says, nodding.

“Shall we be going to the Pitch?” I ask, walking to the front coat closet.

“Why the Pitch? Can’t we just go into the Wavering Wood? Where no one can see us?” Natasha complains, bordering on whining.

I raise an eyebrow. “And risk your father setting something on fire? I don’t think so!”

Simon looks between us. “Who would set the Wavering Wood on fire?”

“You. Obviously,” I reply, carefully choosing a dark green peacoat from out of the closet and draping it over my arm before closing the door.

“Yeah, but Natasha’s magic is water, so she’d sooner flood the Pitch than set everything alight,” he replies, his face going a shade of pink that makes Natasha pull Peter aside and turn away from us.

**Peter**

Daddy and Papa are starting to talk loud, so Tosh turns to me.

“How was the longest day ever for you?” She asks me. She has grey eyes like Papa. I have blue eyes like Daddy. Ebb has hazel (not brown!) eyes like our mummy. That’s what Daddy always says.

“It was so long!” I tell her. “Daddy had a conference call and it took forever! And then we walked through the woods and that took forever. And then we visited Daddy’s friend Ebb. He had a lot to tell her. And I said hi and that I have a sister named Ebb. And that you’re name is Natasha. And then we walked back through the woods and I saw a butterfly!”

She smiles at me. “You saw a butterfly?”

“I saw a butterfly!” I say. “And then we came back here. And now you’re here!”

“That I am!” Tosh says, smiling at me with sunshine. “I’m here to talk with Dad and Papa about some really important things.”

“Like your magic? Dad said he was excited and nervous for it!” I say. Magic is exciting! Papa says that one day, I’ll get my magic and I’ll feel it and then I’ll be able to do spells and make things happen with my own magic!

The loud noises stop and Tosh looks up. Her eyebrows are pinched together and she looks worried.

“Simon, were you really nervous about this?” Papa asks in a quiet voice.

I turn around to see Daddy shrug. “What if I’m still no good?” He asks.

“I thought you were good at magic, Dad,” Tosh says.

“Simon, love, look at me,” Papa says, taking Daddy’s shoulders and squeezing them. “You are a different person now. You’re going to control your magic.”

Daddy looks like he wants to say something. But then he changes his mind and nods his head. “I know, Baz. I know. But you remember what happened last time.”

“How could I forget?”

Tosh clears her throat. “Let’s move on from reminiscing in the past and learn what we’re supposed to do with the excess amount of magic that we do have!” She says.

But Daddy and Papa look sad, like they have a tummy ache that hurts a lot. “Why are you sad?” I ask.

Everyone is quiet and thinking. I can tell because they all have their thinking faces on — the faces that they make when they’re having trouble with something and they really need to think.

Tosh kneels down next to me and looks at me in the eye. She has the same color eyes as Papa. She has pretty eyes. “Peter, do you know the story of how Dad lost his magic?”

**Davy**

Have you ever been buried alive? No, let me rephrase that. Have you ever been buried alive in an unmarked grave? It’s bad enough to wake up six feet under with all your hopes and dreams forgotten. It’s worse to wake knowing that you were a person no one cared to remember.

Granted, I wasn’t alive, Simon. You should know. You were the damn fool that killed me. Alas, I woke up in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere. The person that found me I nearly killed; I thought he was a member of the Coven set to sink my legacy further into the ground and into the depths of Hell. But explained to me that he didn’t think my work was finished. Not yet, at least.

I agreed with him. My work could never be finished in a world where I was buried alive in an unmarked grave. The reforms that could never be realized without my guidance and intuition died with me, as forgotten as a man buried fifteen years before in a goddamn unmarked grave.

That was five years ago. So much has changed since then. For one, Natasha has been learning the ways of how to control her magic. Another is slow collection of our supporters. Some may call it brainwashing. Others call it a call to the light, a new way of seeing things. I simply think of it as a way of gaining support in a way that the Coven will have to listen to and respect. Voices cannot be silenced, even if they are in the minority. How do you think I came into power?

You’re welcome for your magic, by the way. I know that was the thing you loved the most, more than anything in the world. More than Wellbelove or Mitali Bunce’s girl. You valued magic. It was the only reason you thought you mattered. And I don’t blame you; it was the reason that you were created — the reason I put so much on your shoulders. But then you failed. I hope this false sense of confidence fails you again.

**Simon**

Baz eventually drags us out to The Pitch. Natasha seems to be just as confused as I am, which is both comforting and unnerving. I sometimes have to remind myself that she might look and act like Baz, but she’s also me and Agatha. Peter just looks excited to be here, bless him. He just listened to the whole story of how I lost my magic and he’s still in good spirits. I don’t think he understands the implications of losing magic when he doesn’t have his yet, but he’s a smart kid. He’ll learn soon enough.

“Right. So controlling your magic,” Baz says, walking five steps in front of us. “It’s going to take time and practice, but once your figure it out, it will be impossible to lose control.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Are you saying that even you don’t lose control sometimes?”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. It will be almost impossible to lose control. The better you know your magic, the better you will be able to control it.” Baz pulls a football out of thin air (a terrible waste of magic, but impressive nevertheless) (he probably just had that hidden behind his back, now that I think about it). “You first will need to focus your magic on something. The way that your magic seems to work is that you need a place to focus your magic. In football…”

“Football?” Natasha asks, looking terrified.

“Yes, Tasha. Football,” Baz replies slowly, clearly thrown off his rhythm. “You need to concentrate your energy on the ball when you have it but you have to be open when you don’t have the ball. It’s the control that you need with magic.”

It’s the most mind-blowing analogy that he could have used. “That makes a lot of sense, actually,” I say, feeling my head hurting a little bit from processing all of that.

“But does it have to be football? Could it be some other activity that does involve running around on a muddy pitch?”

“Natasha, what’s going on?” Baz asks, sounding dangerously close to snapping.

She bites her lip and gestures to her skirt. “I don’t have shorts on.”

Oh.

“Oh,” Baz echoes my thoughts. “I didn’t think of that. I’m sorry, Natasha.”

She shrugs. “It’s fine. I can learn by watching.”

Peter jumps up and down. “Can I play football with you and Dad, Papa?”

Baz grins. “Of course! It’ll help you with your magic when it comes!”

So we kick a football around, aiming for ease, consistency, and focus. It’s quite therapeutic actually: trying to improve skills in an area that you always wanted to improve in but never knew where to start. Once in a while, I look over at Natasha, standing on the sidelines and looking out into the distance, partially watching us, partially thinking her thoughts. I don’t blame her; football is not a particularly glamorous sport to watch mundane practices of. She rocks back and forth on her feet, hands in the pockets of her cardigan and humming a tune that seems familiar. I just can’t put my finger on it.

“Whatcha humming there, Tasha?” I ask, walking over to the sideline and wiping sweat from my brow.

She stops humming and looks up at me, surprised and worried. “What?”

“The song you were humming? It sounded familiar, but I don’t know why,” I reply.

She relaxes and shakes her head. “It’s a song from Pippin. Don’t remember the words though.”

I face palm myself. Pippin. Of course. Angelica’s been invested in the West End revival and apparently has been playing the new cast recording nonstop. (Penny’s thinking about buying tickets for the whole family to see it over the winter holiday.)

“Can you hum it again?” I ask. She sighs and half-heartedly scats the melody without the words.

“Time to take time, for spring will turn to fall...in just no time at all!” I sing along under my breath. It was the one musical that the Mage liked; had the original cast recording always on during the training sessions. (I think he saw himself as a combination of Pippin, Charlemagne, and the Leading Player.) (He’s only the Leading Player.) Baz only listened to the 2013 revival recording. Thank Merlin. I don’t know if I would be able to look at Stephen Schwartz musicals the same way if he hadn’t made me listen to “Morning Glow.” But that’s not what’s important here, is it?

Natasha perks up at hearing the lyrics. “That’s it!” She exclaims.

“What? The song? Yeah. It’s a good song.”

“No! The lyrics could get time back to its normal pace!” Natasha says, holding her wand up, focusing her magic as much as she could as it rolled off her, cold and purple and smelling of toasted marshmallows. “In just no time at all!” She sang sweetly and clearly, gently moving her wand.

I checked my watch. The second hand was moving at its normal pace and my jaw dropped. “Holy shit!”

“Peanut butter, peanut butter, peanut butter!” Baz exclaims, looking at Peter, who seemed to appear out of nowhere next to the two of us.

Tasha rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe you still do that,” she says, shaking her head. “He’s seven, not three!”

**Baz**

I would be clamoring over my daughter’s remarkable accomplishment; creating a spell in fifth year while trying to control her overwhelming amount of magic. Its unheard of and exactly what people expected from our kids. She’s definitely living up to Mum’s nearly impossible gold standard. But Simon decided to let loose a swear word in front of the still impressionable Peter.

“I know not to say those words, Papa,” Peter says, shrugging. “You don’t always have to say peanut butter whenever you say a bad word!”

“Is that really what we should be focusing on here?” Simon asks, holding up his watch. I gave it to him for our first anniversary, nearly nineteen years ago. I’m surprised that it’s still running after all this time.

Penny was with Micah celebrating Christmas in America when I gave it to him in the flat on the fourth floor. We agreed that we didn’t want to do much, considering what happened the year before. But Simon makes me soft. And incredibly weak. So I bought him a watch and had it engraved with the date he asked me to be his shitty boyfriend and a cheesy quote.

“Only time will tell how much I love you?” He asked, looking at me with a look that I didn’t know how to interpret. Disgust? Amusement? Disappointment? All I know is that my heart sank to my stomach.

“I can return it if you don’t like it!” I said quickly. “It was a stupid idea.”

“Baz, you engraved the exact same thing that Amy Adams’ character did on Doctor Strange’s watch onto a watch for me on our anniversary!” He laughed. “I love it.”

He leaned in to kiss me, and I stopped him. “Rachel McAdams.”

“What?” “Rachel McAdams played Doctor Strange’s love interest. Not Amy Adams,” I replied, taking the watch out of the box and putting it on his wrist.

He rolled his eyes. “Does it matter?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed. “I can’t have my boyfriend going around thinking that Giselle played Doctor Strange’s love interest instead of Regina George!”

I don’t think I had ever been that happy before. Sure I’m happy now and I’ve been happy the last twenty years, but in that moment, we didn’t have to think about anyone else. There were no monsters or children or roommates. It was bubble with just two of us. And no one else.

“Baz are you even listening?” Simon asks. “Natasha made a spell on the spot as a fifth year to reverse something that she already messed up. That’s incredible.”

I try not to look half-hearted when I smile at her. “You’re doing good, pumpkin.”

**Natasha**

I know that Papa’s tired. I know that I just sabotaged his whole lesson plan yet again. And I know that need to learn how to control my magic before anything crazy happens and someone gets seriously injured (most likely me). But it doesn’t stop my heart from sinking slightly.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks him, in lieu of me saying something and completely soaking all of us with unneeded water in the middle of November.

Papa turned around and bent down to pinch my cheek. “I’m proud of you, Natasha. But you still need to control your magic. Bring a change of clothes next time, alright?”

And then they all leave me out on the Pitch. I don’t notice them leave. I don’t remember them going. I just stuck in the mud on the sidelines shivering in my uniform while “No Time At All” bounces through my head like a broken record.

“Hiya, Pitch!” The voice snaps me out of my trance. I whirl around to see Gregory Archer bounding towards me in full football kit, looking confused. “Why are you here? Is there no practice today? Have you seen Coach Mac? Awfully slow day, innit?”

I laugh to myself slightly. “Pace of the day does seem to have picked up slightly. Or am I just imagining things?”

He furrows his brow before reaching an epiphany. “I guess it has!” He exclaims suddenly. “First it was slow but now—aw, shit!”

“What?”

“I missed practice. Or it wasn’t scheduled!” He says, leaning up against the bleachers. “Either way, I look like an idiot.”

“You do look like an idiot,” I reply nonchalantly, trying to look interested in my nails (which look perfectly fine and I definitely do not need to be checking them).

Greg looks at me, mildly hurt. “Hey, that’s not what you’re supposed to say!”

“What am I supposed to say?” I ask calmly, walking over to him to lean against the bleachers.

Gregory Archer’s not a particularly extraordinary person in any way shape or form. He’s a decent footballer with a sturdy build, got a heavy mop of dark hair that he clearly never pays any attention to and a brow that always looks disappointed about something. He never pays attention in class, and when he does, he always asks the densest questions that have already just been answered.

“You were supposed to say that I’m not an idiot!” He says. “Or something like that.”

“But you are an idiot, Archer.”

“Yeah, I know. But you should have said that I wasn’t even though you know that I’m an idiot! Like in those movies.”

“Well maybe if you can give a script, I’ll adhere to it next time,” I reply. Something about the time adjustments today must be making my stomach feel funny or like it’s turning into knots.

Greg grins and nods. “I’ll have to do that then.”

“Please do,” I say with mock concern. “It’ll make things so much easier.”

“So there’s going to be a next time?”

“Shove off, Archer. I’ll see you in Elocution!” I say, finally getting the motivation to move towards the Cloisters. “You could really use some of it!”

He doesn’t notice the jab and laughs instead. “See you later!”

His voice rings through my head the entire walk and it’s impossible to think clearly. “If you could give me a script!” I mumble to myself. “Who am I?” The tightness in my stomach moves up to my heart and it flutters when I think of his stupid messy hair and his stupid football kit and his stupid brown eyes that glow golden in the light… Shit. I start running towards the Cloister in sheer panic, unable to look anyone in the eye about the stupid realization that I had just come to. There was no way. Not a chance in hell. Not happening ever or in the future. No. Not even if pigs flew did I ever think that of all people. No. No. No, no, no, no! Shit. What do I do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the shortlist of musicals referenced:  
> The Last Five Years  
> Rocky Horror Picture Show  
> Hamilton  
> Pippin  
> Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812  
> (and the final line could be from "Pulled" in The Addams Family Musical)
> 
> And a bonus shoutout to the Thanksgiving special of Side by Side with Susan Blackwell with the cast of Falsettos for the "peanut butter" trick.
> 
> Next chapter, there will be a large amount of Ebb to compensate for all the time we've spent with Natasha and Peter.


	7. Ebb is not a Nerd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ebb tries to prove that she's not like her family. Baz attempts to be a disciplinarian. Agatha makes positive strides towards a friendship she never thought possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...  
> I'll have the next chapter up in January, she said.  
> I'll have the next chapter up in March, she said.  
> It'll be done then, she said.
> 
> So welcome back. And Happy New Year! Thank you all for the kind comments on my weird little fanfic here and sticking around for the last six months (yes, that's how long it's been). In the time since I last posted, I have gotten into college, taken multiple AP tests, graduated high school, and registered for college classes. I know that my schedule will be slightly freer over the next few months so I will try to be a little more consistent with posting (no promises, see what happened last time). But I am so excited to be back writing this fanfic for y'all. All of your comments and kudos are so helpful and they always make my day just that much better :)

**Agatha**

Mum brought me my wand before the rehearsal and the whole thing was delayed because no one could believe that I hadn’t used it in three years. Everyone except Baz and Simon (who also hasn’t had magic in three years). As we left the ballroom where the ceremony was going to be held, Baz slipped a piece of paper into the pocket of my dress.

“Meet me in the loft during the rehearsal dinner”

I socialized for a few minutes but I found everyone to be discussing magic and Watford, which still made my skin crawl. So, against my better judgement I might add, I met with Baz in the loft of the cottage.

“I didn’t think you would come,” Baz said when I closed the door behind me. “Snow told me it was a bad idea.”

I stopped. “You’ve been dating the man for three years and you still call him Snow?” I asked.

“Sometimes,” he said, scratching the back of his head with his left hand. “Usually just to piss him off a bit.”

“Everything about you used to piss him off,” I said, laughing. “You didn’t even have to say your name; he just started ranting.”

Baz smiled. “Yeah. I know.”

We climbed up into the loft and sat on opposite sides of a long table. “So where are we starting?” I asked.

“With my apology,” he said, looking down at a stack of papers.

I laughed. “I don’t think you need to apologize to Penny. I mean, unless you’re going to completely roast her.”

“No,” he said, looking more vulnerable than I’d ever seen him. “This isn’t about the speech. I want to apologize to you.”

I was surprised. “Why?”

“Because I was a dick to you, Agatha,” he said, eyes wide, brutally honest. “I used you against Simon. And you didn’t, and still don’t, deserve to be treat like that. And I shouldn’t have led you on and then when I rejected you, I should’ve given you a straight answer—"

I snorted and he sneered at me. “What?” “You said you should’ve given me a straight answer when you’re not straight at all!”

“Alas, I am irony’s fool,” he said, resting his chin on his hands. “But all that aside, I am so sorry Agatha. Can you forgive me?”

I sighed. I don’t think I had ever heard him call me by my first name before. “Of course, Baz. Forgiven! But I said awful things back then too. I called you evil! Can you forgive me?”

“Done,” he said, holding back a smile. Not a half smile but a full toothy smile. “Did you get our save the date card, by the way?”

I shook my head before thinking back. “Wait, that was your save the—are you and Simon getting married?!”

In all of my years of knowing him (or knowing the guarded, shady bully/nerd), I don’t think I had ever seen Baz look so happy. Or sheepish for that matter. “Simon’s probably going to tell you all about it when he inevitably gets shit-faced at the reception tomorrow,” he said, rifling through his coat pocket. “I haven’t worn this damn ring all week and it’s driving me crazy!”

“Si proposed to you?” I asked, not feeling quite sure how I should feel about the whole situation. I did think that I was in love with both of them at one point. Everything that Baz might of been when we were students (evil, vampire, scheming, antagonizing, Old Family) melted away. All he was was a boy in love. I swear that I saw him blushing.

“Yeah. It was after I studied in France over the summer and he pulled everything together in twelve weeks. He may have been a horrible student but whenever he sets his mind to something…” He pulled out a gold band and slipped onto his left ring finger.

“It’s either the most attractive thing on the planet or he’s a total prick,” I finished for him. “I’m glad he’s learning how to make it more attractive than…prickish.”

There’s another awkward silence. On one side of the table, I’m Simon Snow’s past. Across from me, sits his present and future. Baz. Of all people on this planet, I never in a million years thought that the wedding after Penny’s would be that of Simon Snow and Baz Pitch. Marrying each other.

“So the speech?”

“Wellbelove?” Baz asked. “Are you okay with all of this? Me marrying Simon, I mean.”

“It’s just strange,” I said. “After everything that happened in our breakup, it feels like it should be the other way around.”

He laughed. “Crowley, I should’ve come out as soon as I figured out that I was gay!”

“Why didn’t you?”

Baz rolled his eyes. “Million reasons. I didn’t think Father would’ve taken it well. Plus more fuel for Snow. Could you imagine what kind of things he would’ve said about me if he knew?”

“They might’ve been milder, all things considered,” I said. “Pen would’ve defended you even more. Simon would’ve probably have been more afraid of you honest. And paranoid.”

“He’s always paranoid.”

“We might’ve been friends, though,” I said, really thinking about it. “If you were out when we were at Watford. You could’ve helped me with schoolwork and I could’ve told you everything I knew that was happening at Watford.”

“I don’t gossip.”

I laughed. “It would’ve made Simon more paranoid. I mean, ‘Not only is Baz a vampire, but he’s up to date with all of gossip because he keeps chatting with Agatha over tea!’ It would’ve driven him crazy just to know that you knew everything!”

He nodded. “Well played, Wellbelove. But just because we weren’t friends then doesn’t mean that we can’t be friends now.”

I blinked. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I’m done being whatever villain I was three years ago. I love Simon and I know that you love him too. Maybe not romantically, but you were friends at Watford and had him over every Christmas! It’s time for me to stop pushing people away and maybe let them in?” He looked as if he almost didn’t believe what he was saying.

“Was that whole thing Simon’s idea?”

“Totally Simon’s idea,” Baz said laughing. “But he’s right. I shut people out because I’m afraid of getting hurt. Again! But that first part about me not wanting to be the villain in your story is true, Wellbelove. I want to marry Simon knowing that you still don’t think that I’m an evil vampire. I want a clean slate, if that’s even possible.”

“I don’t think that you’re evil, Baz. I used to, but that’s back when I didn’t know any better. The only thing I’m thinking about you now is that Simon better not hurt you because you are so obviously in love with him!”

He looked down at his hands, at a beautiful gold ring. “I am. I’m surprised no one picked up on it before.”

“So I propose,” I started, “that we use this speech for Penny as a start for a new chapter for us as friends. Not enemies. Not what could’ve happened scenarios. Not a strange list of people Simon Snow has dated. Friends. And then maybe we can go from there.”

“I like that,” he said, nodding slightly and sitting up straighter. “Though we should still be the list of people Simon Snow has dated. I think that’s hilarious.”

I rolled my eyes and held out my hand. “So are you in or out, Pitch?”

His eyes widened. “Pitch? Wow, then I’m definitely in!”

**Ebb**

It’s foggy and cold when I wake up and I desperately want to go back to sleep.

“Rise and shine, sleepy head! It’s a brand new day!”

Sal is far too perky when it comes to mornings. It’s like she feeds off sadness and gloom to fuel her own happiness and unnatural morning energy. Dad says it could just be that she’s eager for breakfast, but that’s not the point. It’s not that I don’t like Sal. She’s fine to live with and she doesn’t do crazy things like jump on the beds or play loud music till far-too-late o’clock. Sal is basically like Natasha: responsible, goody-two-shoes, nerd. Plus, we have nothing in common. I mean, sure she helps me with homework sometimes, but it’s not the same as having someone that you can talk to about the really important things like what’s happening at school. All Sal wants to talk about is what happened in Watford in years gone by and not even the time that I know most about (which is when Dad and Papa were here, duh).

I roll over and groan. “Do we have to?” I ask.

She laughs and I pull the pillow over my head and stuff my head into the mattress. I can’t handle people who are perky in the morning. “Of course we have to! I assume we’d be in big trouble if we didn’t go to our classes without a decent excuse!”

“Fine,” I mumble, slowly sitting up and looking at her. She’s already almost fully dressed and looks wide awake. Lovely.

“Do you want me to wait for you?” She asks.

I pull a freshly pressed uniform out of the closet. “No. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.” The door closes and she’s gone.

I change into my uniform from my pajamas and throw my books into my bag. I’m halfway out the door when I forget about the darn boater. So I run back into the room, whip out my wand, and spell my hat on. Ginger’s already at the table when I get back.

“Where have you been?” She asks me in an angry whisper. “Salina’s asked me where you were at least ten times in the last five minutes! Your roommate is mental, Ebb!”

I scoff. “At least you don’t have to live with her! She’s a total neurotic. Like, I’m scared to bring up the idea of homework around her because she’s always talking about school!”

She rolls her eyes in a way that proves that Ginger is the coolest person in the school. “Your dad is a professor and you’re not that crazy! Thank Merlin!”

“I know right!” I say, looking down at the sour cherry scones sitting in front of me. I know that Ginger hasn’t touched them, but it’s not like I’m going to point that out to her. “Thank Merlin I’m nothing like my sister. She’s crazy.”

“You’re telling me? I heard from a fifth year that it’s her fault that time was slow yesterday.” Ginger starts pulling at a loose thread on her cardigan. “At least someone figured out how to get everything back to normal.”

I nod, taking a heavily buttered bite of sour cherry scone. “Thank goodness!”

“Crowley! Learn to chew with your mouth closed, Ebb!” She says, looking absolutely repulsed by the way I decide to consume my food. I pick my napkin up off my lap, still holding my scone in the other hand, and wipe the crumbs off my face.

And I raised an eyebrow. “That any better?”

She sighs and rolls her eyes in a fake dramatic way. “I suppose. Now, what were we supposed to do for Latin.”

“Just because Professor Pitch is my dad doesn’t mean that I know everything that’s going happen in class!” I reply, polishing off the scone. “But just make sure that you’re on time and neat in your organization and that you participate.”

“I meant for homework, genius,” Ginger says, looking at me like I’m an idiot. I probably am an idiot.

“Oh! Sorry! Uh, we had to do exercises in the book on page 26, activities 1 through 4. They weren’t that hard, actually,” I said, pulling the book out of my bag and handing it to her.

She nods and turns to the page of the book, my notes and homework floating onto the table. “I can copy your homework, right?”

“Definitely!” I reply enthusiastically, or as enthusiastically as one can at too early in the morning. “Whatever you need.”

“Perfect,” she says. “I totally forgot; I was working on my music.”

Ginger is so cool: she can play the guitar, ukulele, piano, and bass guitar. And she can sing really well. Once she played me a song that she wrote herself! Words, music, everything! I played it for Tasha and she said it sounded like something that got rejected from a bad pop station. But she’s a music snob: she listens to musicals and weird 80’s music that Papa and Aunt Fiona like blaring. Dad just listens to noises. I honestly don’t know what his taste in music is.

“Have you written anything new?” I ask her. She looks at me over her homework. “Do you really think that you can rush the creative process, Eberneza? I’ll let you see what I’ve written when it’s done!”

I nod. “Okay. I understand. I’m sorry I made you feel rushed.”

“It’s fine, I guess,” Ginger says. “Just don’t do it again.”

“Totally.”

We eat the rest of our breakfast in relative silence, with Ginger scratching her pencil against the paper of our workbook. She occasionally looks over at me, but that’s usually when she thinks that I’m eating too loudly. Or with my mouth open. But she doesn’t have to say anything because I glance over to Tasha, who’s eating with Angelica. They look like they’re having a conversation about something interesting because Tasha’s using her hands a lot. She only uses her hands when she’s really wanting to emphasize a point. Angelica’s arguing calmly, and Tasha turns bright red before running out of the dining hall, leaving a magical purple chill in the air. Strange, but not the weirdest thing that’s happened. I think that it could have been much worse.

“What’s with your sister?” Ginger asks, looking up from my Latin workbook. “She seems more annoying than usual.”

I shrug. “Dunno. Not like she ever tells me anything other than to stop doing whatever I’m doing.”

She thinks it over for a second before nodding. “Yeah. That seems fair.”

We eat the rest of our breakfast in relative silence until it’s time to go to class. Our first class of the day is Latin. I’m consistently surprised with how much I know from various offhand comments from Papa and Natasha or visiting Papa’s family in Hampshire and visiting with Auntie Mordelia. Dad insists that I inherited some sort of fascinating talent for the academia from Papa, but I doubt it. Nerds are boring and I am not boring. Believe me, I’ve always been forced to live with them my entire life. But if I were a nerd (not that I am), I would be obsessed with Papa’s class. He makes everything, even something as boring as a dead language that we only learn to understand our magic a little better, so fascinating and interesting. And it’s not just because he’s my dad. If anyone asked me if I actually liked Latin, I would tell them that they were crazy to think that I actually like school. I am NOT a nerd.

Breakfast ends and we clear our places (not that Ginger had anything to clear away) before going to class. Ginger hands me back my workbook, which I stuff away into my bag as we walk into the classroom. Papa is scribbling something on the chalkboard at the front of the room in his nice handwriting while we all take our seats. It’s not until we’re all completely silent and seated that he turns around to look at us.

“Good morning!” He starts before walking towards our desks. “You all had homework last night. We will be going over the answers together and then you will be turning it in before we go on to the next lesson.” There’s murmuring and shuffling of papers that you would normally associate with the beginning of class. Nothing out of the ordinary except for a little bubble of warmth that filled my stomach. I guess that it could be excitement or nervousness, but I pushed it down; what’s there to be excited about in Latin class.

Suddenly Papa raises his hand and silences the class. "But first," he starts, a grin creeping onto his face, "you're going to have a quiz on your homework from last night."

**Baz**

It's cruel to give a pop quiz, especially to first years that are still grappling with the whole concept of their own magic. But Latin is just a language and it helps me as their teacher know what’s going on inside their heads and what exactly we need to review. I trust that Eberneza will do well. Not because she’s my daughter but because she’s a genuinely smart kid. She tries to shove it off as uncool or something that she shouldn’t be proud of, which is beyond annoying as both a parent and a teacher, but she’s eleven. I want to help her learn that its okay to be smart. The quiz covers basic concepts that we have covered in depth and everyone should know by now. I don’t want to spend more time with them than I have to, but I would much rather go over them now than right before exams. Latin is far more straightforward than the other classes at Watford, but that may be my own biased memory of it. After all, I did graduate top of our class and have been fluent in Latin since I was seven.

The other great thing about this quiz (I really am turning into a Professor, aren’t I?) is that it will show me who’s doing the homework and who’s copying it off of other people. If these kids aren’t learning anything now, then they won’t develop the proper study habits necessary to succeed at Watford. And even thought I know Ebb is genuinely smart, I have a feeling that she’s letting her friends copy her work. She tends to gravitate towards people who have a particularly bad influence on her; the people who want nothing more than to take advantage of the gifts and talents she doesn’t know she has.

Ebb is the first to finish, though she is definitely not the first to turn it in. She waits until someone else has finished until she places the quiz on my desk. Then it takes another ten minutes for the rest of the class to finish, by which time I’ve finished grading all of the papers. We go over the homework, which everyone seemed to have problems with except for Ebb and the girl she hangs out with, Ginger. Which would not be strange if Ginger hadn’t gotten a lower score than Simon had on our first Latin quiz. (For context, he did so badly that he moped around our room for a solid month before asking Penny for help.)

So I do as any reasonable teacher would and ask Ebb to stay after class to discuss things. Without Ginger.

“What’s going on?” She asks, looking concerned.

I handed her back her quiz. “You’re doing quite well in this class, Eberneza.”

Her eyes widen as she looks at her grade before looking back up at me. “What’s this about then?”

I sigh and sit on the desk. “You were the only person who received a perfect score on the quiz and the homework,” I tell her.

Her face begins to change. “Then why do you need to talk to me?”

Looking at her face, I realize how bad of an idea this could be. I don’t want Ebb to suffer socially, but at the same time she’s far smarter than she allows herself to be just so she can fit in with her friend who seems to be using her. I don’t want Ebb to be angry with me, but I also don’t want her to get hurt by a toxic friendship. “You are aware of the honor code here at Watford School of Magicks, yes?” I ask her, trying to be as deadpan and professorial as possible.

Her face falls, her boater hat falling forward in front of her eyes. “Yes,” she said quietly.

I nod. “Good. Then you should know that copying homework is not permitted at Watford as a violation of the honor code.” I file through the collected homework papers and pull out Ginger’s completed worksheet. “Your friend Ginger was the only other person who got one hundred percent on the homework. Other people got close, but no one else got one hundred percent. Ordinarily, that would not be a problem but Ginger did not do well on the quiz we took in class today.”

She bit her lip. “Does this mean I’m in trouble?”

I sighed and shook my head. I have no problem telling people off, but Simon’s been the one who’s the disciplinarian in our house. I felt awful giving timeouts even when Tasha was literally throwing food on the wall. I don’t know what it is with me and my children, but I would rather have a stake driven through my heart than reprimand them with a punishment.

“No,” I say, “you’re not in trouble today, Ebb. But this is your first warning. If I catch you letting someone else copy your work, both you and that person will be issued detentions.”

Ebb lets out a breath and readjusts her boater nervously. “So, can go?” She asks.

I nod. “Go. You have more classes after this one and I don't want you to miss them.”

She drops her head and slowly walks out of the room with her hands clenched into fists. It’s only then that I find the right thing to say.

“And Eberneza?”

She turns around slowly as I look her in the eye to say something very serious.

“I’m very disappointed in you.”

Her entire body slumps forward as she poorly tries to mask her stomping out of the room. I’m going to have to ask Simon for advice on how to discipline without feeling horrible and empty inside.

**Ebb**

I walk out of the classroom feeling mad, but with a pit in my stomach I usually get when I’m feeling sad. I never want to let Papa down, but who was he to tell me that Ginger is a bad influence? She is a good friend! And I want to be nearly a good a friend to her as she is to me! She’s such a good friend that she waited for me outside the classroom.

“What was all that?” She asks, snapping closed her compact. (Yeah, that’s right! Ginger wears powdered makeup to school, which technically isn’t allowed but she gets away with it because it’s translucent).

I huff and shake my head. “You can’t copy my homework anymore.”

“What?” She screeches. “How does he know?”

I hang my head, fully ready to tell the truth. “I was the only person who got the homework fully correct. And the only other person who got the homework fully correct was you but you failed the quiz and I didn’t.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ginger yells up at the vaulted ceilings, her voice echoing throughout the empty hallway. “He’s trying to make you into a nerd, Ebb! I won’t let that happen!”

I feel everything sinking. I wish the ground would open up from underneath me and swallow me whole. I didn’t want this to happen. I’m a good friend. And I don’t want Ginger to be angry with me. But I have to do something quickly because she’s beginning to walk away and I want to be her friend. “Trust me, Ginger!” I beg, running after her down . “I don’t want to be a nerd! I want to be like you. I want to be cool!”

She turns on her heel and stares me down. “Then let me copy your homework. If I don’t pass Latin, then it’ll be your fault that my parents are telling Headmistress Bunce to fire your father!”

What Ginger said makes my head spin a little bit. My fault? I don’t want Papa to lose his job. It’s the first time that Papa has ever enjoyed going to work and the fact that Ginger could make him lose it? It didn’t seem right, but I don’t want to risk my friendship or Papa’s job. I must be taking too long because Ginger starts to walk away. I start running after her, my boater flying off my head and down the hall behind me.

“Wait, Ginger. I want to be your friend. Of course you can copy my homework!”

She nods curtly. “Good. I’ll see you at lunch.”

Then Ginger skips away towards the next class she has (which is an elective that I don't take). I would run to catch up with her but someone taps me on the shoulder. I grab my wand and point it at the person reflexively, but put it down when I see that it’s just Natasha with my boater.

“You need to work on your ‘Stay Put’ if you want to keep that on all day,” She says with a small smile.

I quickly spell my hat back on and nod at her, ready to race to find Ginger. “Thanks,” I say, ready to bolt. But Tasha holds me back.

“Not so fast,” She exclaims, whipping me back around to face her. “You’re letting Ginger copy your homework for Papa’s class?”

My jaw dropped. “What? How did you hear that?”

She shrugged. “Ebb, half of Watford could hear you. You know about the honor code. You know that Papa is definitely going to be one of the strongest enforcers of the honor code! What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to make friends, Tasha, and I can’t do that if you’re telling me to follow the rules all the time! You’re such a bloody nag!” I inform her before trying to go on my way, but she stops me again.

“What is going on with you?” She asks, looking slightly concerned. “Why can’t you tell me what’s going on?”

I plant my feet on the ground and stare at her. “I’ll tell you what’s going on with me if you tell me why were you blushing and running off at breakfast this morning!” I say triumphantly. I finally bested her. A chill goes through the air and runs up my spine. Never a good sign.

“That is none of your business,” Tasha replies coolly, trying to ignore that her magic was leaking an icy purple. But I don’t care. I win.

“Exactly!” I say. “If that’s none of your business, than what I do is none of your business!”

“My business is truly personal, Ebb!” She starts, dropping her voice to a near whisper. “Your business could get you kicked out of Watford and there’s no way in hell that I’m letting that happen!”

“Since when did you care about me?” I blurt out, everyone in the hall beginning to look at me. But I didn’t care. I was angry and mad and slightly hungry, which always makes everything worse. “You don’t care about me and Papa doesn’t care about me! You know who does care? GINGER!”

And without waiting for anything else to happen, I huff off towards the Cloisters. Tears start streaming down my face for no reason at all. I’m angry and mad and sad and I don’t want to look at anyone or talk to anyone ever again. If I had Natasha’s magic or Dad’s old magic, the world would probably have frozen over or burned out by now. Instead, I collapse onto my bed and let it all out.

It’s only after I finish sobbing and I sit up on my bed that I hear the slight knock on the door. I sniff and wipe my face with my cardigan sleeve before going to open up the door. My breath hitches because it feels like I’m looking into a mirror, but I’m older and concerned. Blonde hair, brown eyes, slightly taller.

Agatha smiles gently at me. “Hiya Ebb,” she says, as if she’s afraid that this moment won’t last.

It’s too late for it to be a Visiting. But it has to be a Visiting. I haven’t seen Agatha in person in years. So I slam the door in her face and launch myself back onto the bed and decide that I’m skipping all my classes for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey kids!
> 
> thanks for reading as always. I've been thinking about making a playlist for this fanfic (because of all the musical references and all), so if you want me to make a spotify playlist for this fanfic, let me know! also be sure to leave kudos and comments because those really help me out!
> 
> thanks!


	8. Agatha is Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davy sets his sights on a new Chosen One. Natasha tries to forget about the fight but is greeted by nearly equally unwelcome feelings. A hangry Ebb confronts Agatha. Meanwhile, Baz's free period just got slightly more interesting. In the past, Baz and Agatha deliver their toast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is she uploading a chapter within six months of the last one? Indeed she is!
> 
> Welcome back to this weird little fic! I am so excited to be writing this particular story again after being super busy these last couple months (during which I finished writing an original story!). I want to finish this fic before the end of the year and maybe even before Wayward Son! But knowing my crazy sporadic uploading schedule, don't expect the latter, lol!
> 
> A lot is happening this chapter that may not seem particularly important, but I swear that we're getting somewhere!

**Davy**

I remember finding out that you had a daughter, a family. At first, I was glad that you had passed your gift on to the next generation. However, I was dismayed when I found out that Natasha was to be raised in the ways of the Old Families, with spells and dark magic all abound. Granddaughter of Natasha Pitch. Daughter of Basilton Pitch. I don’t think that I could have been more disappointed in you, Simon. But then I sensed her magic.

It was boundless, limitless. Far more controlled than yours. I made a mistake in choosing your mother. She was weak and unable to contain and control the power you possessed.

But Natasha? As a Pitch, she inherited the control Mages could only dream of or hear in stories. A chosen one, uniting the worlds between my New Ways and the Old Families. Someone to stop this unneeded fighting and forgetting.

It didn’t matter to me that you decided to expand and grow your precious family with Baz. Eberneza is powerful, but not quite as gifted as her sister. Peter doesn’t seem to show any signs of magic whatsoever, but he’s young and may simply have that dreaded Wellbelove’s power.

In the moments before my death, I finally came to terms with the fact that you would never lead us to our salvation. The prophecy that I had obsessed over for years never came true. You know that wasn’t the first time that you disappointed me. You were never good enough. You were too pliable and explosive. The only thing that made me believe in you was your magic and your love of magic.

Natasha is a pawn. I hate to make you upset, but the matter of the fact is that your daughter will be of no use to me when I am in power again. When she unleashes chaos into the World of Mages, there will be no stopping the unfolding of my plan.

**Penny**

Agatha woke Micah and me up at the crack of dawn so that we could drive down to Watford. I don’t know why she refused to call ahead and let Simon and Baz know that she was coming, but I know better than to argue with Agatha when she sets her mind to something.

We arrive at Watford at half ten in the morning after a solid three hours of driving since we didn’t have very bad traffic. Agatha didn’t talk a lot in the car, even when Micah repeated the same questions over and over again. But once we stop, she immediately jumps out of the car starts jogging towards the gates. I somehow find the energy to run after her.

“Where are you going?” I ask her.

She doesn’t turn around; she just keeps walking.

“Agatha, slow down!”

“I’m not slowing down!” She replies, not turning around. I don’t know why she has this much energy. I saw her everyday for over seven years and never did she once have this much energy. It’s coming to a point where I need to know exactly what the matter is and I might have to resort to doing magic, which is something I don’t want to do.

“Agatha, you’re being unreasonable,” I yell, chasing her onto the grounds of Watford, which is looking uncharacteristically gloomy. “Talk to me!”

Some of the students on the grounds are beginning to look at us like we’re batty. And Crowley, we probably are.

Agatha whips around and looks at me, both determined and broken. “Can’t I go see my children without anyone asking questions?” She exclaims.

Merlin, I feel like an idiot. Of course, she’s coming to Watford to see Tasha and Ebb and Peter; it’s been seven years. She’s finally gotten out of her fantasy world in Los Angeles and is coming to face the music. But the last time I thought she was back for good, one bad thing happened, and suddenly she was gone to California again for seven years.

“Are you sure that it’s the right time?” I ask quietly, trying not to attract more attention to us.

“Yes. I promised myself when I was back home I’d see them as soon as I could!” She said. “I want to see them.”

“Do they know that you’re coming?”

Agatha shook her head. “No, but I’m their mother.”

“It’s the middle of the school day,” I replied, as calmly as one can when trying to talk down one of the most stubborn people in the world. “You probably won’t be able to see them until lunch at the earliest!”

As if on cue, Eberneza began to run on the green past us towards the Cloisters. Agatha followed close behind, and I didn’t try to stop her. Instead, I walked back over to Micah to watch and wait.

**Natasha**

I tried to call out after Ebb. But by the time I figured out what to say, she was gone. I bite my lip, trying to push down my magic that was sending a horrible chill through the hall. I can’t control my magic. And it’s not like I haven’t been trying either. It’s just hard to find time to practice my magic when I’m busy doing homework or taking classes or trying to convince my younger sister not to allow her friends to plagiarize her homework.

It also doesn’t help that everyone in the hall is staring at me. I remember in my first year when they used to stare at me and whisper. No one whispers now. Instead, they just look at me like I’m a bomb. Which I suppose I am now. A bomb just waiting to be detonated at the worst possible moment. (Or maybe not a bomb in my case. With my magic, I might just be a glorified water balloon, which is more annoying than destructive.) I sneer at the crowd, trying to push my magic down.

“Aren’t you supposed to be going to class?” I growl in a voice I almost don’t recognize.

The crowd quickly disperses, except for that damn Gregory Archer with both his boater and his smile crooked. It makes my heart rate elevate to a pace that can’t be normal or healthy in any way. My plan has been to avoid any and all mention of Archer in and outside of class unless completely necessary. But as of right now, that seems damn near impossible unless I turn on my heel this moment and take the long walk to my next class.

“Hiya, Pitch!” He exclaims the same way he has since first year whenever he sees me in the hallway. It’s never made my breath hitch before. Which may be a side effect of…something that I’m not even going to think about.

“Archer!” I reply as chivalrously as possible through a clenched jaw. “Are you lost?”

He somehow gets beside me. I clench my fists to keep my magic (and my emotions) at bay and take a deep breath. “No. I was going to ask if you’re okay? That first year was really awful to you!”

I huff and roll my eyes. “That first year is my little sister. It’s normal.”

He shrugs and scratches behind his ear, his boater shifting slightly to the other side of his head. “Based on the way you reacted, it doesn’t seem like it was normal. You look upset, and your magic started making everything cold.”

“What’s your point?”

He stops and looks at me funny, which makes my stomach do strange things that it definitely shouldn’t be able to do. “I don’t like seeing people look concerned.”

At that moment, I completely freeze. My brain is short-circuiting. Why is this boy, who I’ve known to be a complete idiot for the last five years, making me lose my ability to string together a complete thought? How is it that I’ve just now noticed that he’s an interesting person who can take away all coherent brain function? What is going on with me?

I can’t help but let some of the emotion out with an uncharacteristic compliment: “It’s a good trait to have, Archer, but frankly, I am fine. You don’t need to concern yourself with my wellbeing.”

He shrugs and keeps walking. “If you say so!”

I don’t know why we’re still walking together or why he hasn’t already bolted off to class. So I ask him. “Is there anything else, Archer?”

It’s like I can see the lightbulb go off over his head. “Yes!” He exclaims, pulling his bag around to pull something out of it. “I typed this up last night because I couldn’t sleep.” He hands me an untidy stack of papers that I realize are stapled together as I try to better organize them.

I look down at the first page which reads “Script for Conversation b/t N. Pitch and G. Archer.” I try my hardest not to blush, but I feel my cheeks get hot anyways before quickly being cooled off by a gust of my magic.

I know exactly what it is, but I ask the question anyway. “What is this?”

Archer shrugs. It’s infuriating. “You said to write you a script next time, so that’s what I did. I thought that we could rehearse it, yeah?”

I try not to smile. I try to imitate Papa’s neutral expression even though my heart is beating out of my chest, and my mind is running a thousand miles a minute. But my magic betrays my neutral expression, and the hallway begins to look purple and smell of rain. “Maybe after class,” I say as evenly as I can. “Thank you, Archer.”

He smiles, backing up away from me (even though we’re going to the same class, the idiot). “See ya later, Pitch.”

I watch him go and realize that he’s in the same class as me right as the bell rings. We both run into the class late and walk to our respective seats across the room. I don’t even know what we’re learning about because every moment of the class, I’m looking over the script that he gave me in the hall. How does this idiot know exactly how to make me fall apart and become unable to function? How did he get good at this when he’s not good at anything else? (Although, he is particularly good at football but other than that he’s useless.) It makes me almost forget the lead weight in my stomach that formed when I confronted Ebb. Almost.

**Ebb**

After another solid three hours, I open the door again, and she’s still there. Answering emails and doing something on her phone while sitting outside my door. I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I just want to eat sour cherry scones and wallow in my misery by myself.

Besides, what do you say to someone that you haven’t seen since you were barely old enough to hold a conversation? I’m genuinely asking. It’s not like we have anything in common beside her being my blood relative and me having blonde hair. I’m perfectly content living with Dad.

At least he makes good food. But I can’t seem to get away from Agatha. She seems to follow me wordlessly through the halls of the Cloisters like a ghost. It has to be a Visiting. I realize that she’s real when she grabs hold of my hand when we exit the Cloisters.

“Ebb, can we talk?” She asks so quietly that I almost don’t hear her. “Please?”

“What on Earth do you want from me?” I’m still angry. I’m also very hungry. It’s never a good look on me, or at least that’s what Dad and Papa say.

Her nose is red, and her eyes look puffy. “I just want to talk to you, Eberneza. Please.”

I cross my arms over my chest and look away from her towards the moat surround Watford. I mostly just don’t want to look at her. But it doesn't mean that I can't hear her sigh and see her shake her head. “I’m sorry. You have every right to be angry with me for leaving.”

I look at her, surprised. “I’m not angry at you. I’m just pissed off at the world right now. Don’t take it personally!”

She takes a step back and lets out a quick laugh. “Did you skip lunch?” I glare at her.

“Obviously.”

“You and Simon. Always thinking with your stomachs,” she says to no one in particular. “Glad to see that some things stay the same after six years.”

“Seven. Tasha’s been keeping track of the days because she’s insane,” I spit out.

Agatha sighs. “Of course she is. Bright witch, she is.”

I don’t remember how she used to talk when she lived in London near us, but she sounds oddly American. You can tell that she’s British, that’s for certain, but there’s something about her that’s not all tea and crumpets.

“She thinks so,” I reply. “I don’t want to talk about Natasha right now.”

I swear that I can see her eyes brighten slightly. “It might make you feel better. Maybe you can catch me up over some tea and biscuits?”

It’s a tempting offer, and I definitely want to say no. I should say no. I don’t want to talk to anyone. But food…

“What kind of biscuits?” I ask her. “And I don’t like tea. I’m eleven. What eleven-year-old openly likes tea?”

She smiles and nods. “I didn’t like tea until I started putting honey and lemon in it,” she said. “Cream and sugar are for coffee in America.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Americans are weird.”

She smiles and scratches the back of her head absentmindedly. “Indeed they are.”

“But what kind of biscuits are we talking about?” I ask again.

Agatha walks towards me and gingerly places a hand on my shoulder like she’s afraid I might burn her. “I’m not quite sure yet, but I think we can raid the kitchens and see what’s in there.”

“Or we can convince Dad to make us some fresh biscuits.” I give Agatha a pleading look that I know usually works on people who love me (except for Natasha, but I’m not sure if she loves me or is just trying to make my life terrible). “If he’s not doing anything else. He always has biscuit dough in the freezer!”

She lets out what I think is a laugh, but I’m not too sure until she starts talking. “That sounds like a good idea, Ebb.”

She sounds kind of sad, but I chose to ignore it because she just agreed to ask Dad to make fresh biscuits and isn’t going to tell on my for skipping class.

**Baz**

On Wednesdays, I get the second class after lunch off. The fog from the morning has burned off slightly, and the sun is mild enough that my skin won't sting, so I decide to take advantage of the beautiful day. I’m walking through the Courtyard when I catch a glimpse of fluffy brown hair and purple cat-eyed glasses out of the corner of my eye. Then I hear my name.

“Baz?” An all too familiar name calls.

It’s like I’m back in school and Simon Snow’s best friend is trying to apologize for something or another that he’s done. I’m almost tempted to sneer.

I turn around and see Bunce and her husband walking towards me across the green. “Bunce? Mr. Bunce?” I ask. “What are you doing here?”

Penny laughs and shakes her head. “Good to see that teaching hasn’t changed you, Baz,” she says, pulling me down into a hug. Say what you will about Penelope Bunce, but she’s a damn good hugger.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I inform her without acknowledging her comment.

“Just coming to visit the kids!” Micah said, offering his hand for me to shake. We shake and do that strange “bro-hug" that has become a tradition whenever we interact. I don't know when it started, but it's too late to back out now.

“You also coming to visit the sword?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Penny shakes her head and rakes a hand through her hair. “In a way,” she says cryptically.

Micah is quick to add another minor detail that earns a death glare from Penny. “Agatha’s back.”

I almost drop the papers that I’m carrying. “What do you mean Agatha is back?”

Penny sighs loudly. “She found the sword on the beach in Los Angeles and came back two weeks ago with it in her suitcase.”

I blink. “How’d she get it through TSA? Wait, no. Droids spell. Never mind.” Then something hits me. “So what are you doing here telling me that Agatha is back?”

Micah looks over my shoulder and raises his eyebrows to gesture towards something on the other side of the lawn. Penny shares a similarly grim look as she looks over my shoulder. So, I turn around.

Two ladies with blonde hair and hazel eyes are crossing the lawn towards the living quarters. One is clearly older and taller, sporting a green cardigan over a flowing sundress. The shorter one is in the first year Watford uniform.

I turn back to Penny. “When did this happen?” “She wanted to see her kids,” she explains, shaking her head. “It’s been seven years since she’s seen them.”

My mind is spinning. Agatha? At Watford of all places? After seven years of partial radio silence while she was in Los Angeles with that dude? And why did she have to drag Penny and Micah into this?

“Do you want to get a cup of tea?” I ask, quickly realizing that I had more pressing matters than grading Latin assignments. “I can’t assume the drive here was an easy one.”

Penny looks over at Micah, who nods, before turning back to me with a smile. “I think that tea would be lovely.”

**Agatha**

Penny and Micah’s wedding was beautiful. I expected it to be that way since they’re both such perfectionists, but Penny was convinced something would go wrong (but the only thing that went wrong was when Micah accidentally pulled off Pen’s entire veil instead of just lifting off the one covering her face). Baz and I found a corner of the reception hall while photos were happening to quietly practice our speech. Simon kind of kept watch and kind of made sure Penny wasn’t freaking out during photos (as her Man of Honor since she felt guilty about choosing one of her siblings to be her favorite for a day). Soon enough, it was showtime.

“Good evening, all. My name is Tyrannous Basilton Grimm-Pitch.”

“And my name’s not quite as condescending: Agatha Leslie Wellbelove. And we both went to Watford with Penny for seven and a half years and with Micah for merely one year.”

“Indeed. Now, knowing Penelope for as long as we have, we needed to narrow down our list of the things we can talk about the only way we know how, because Watford offered virtually no study methods other than the Penelope Bunce method, let’s start with what we know don’t know.”

“Sounds alright, Baz!”

“Great, now we don’t know: why are we giving the speech?”

“Dunno. Right. We don’t know half of the people here.”

“Good point. What else. We don’t know why both the bride and the groom wanted a wedding when it’s freezing outside.”

“No, we do know that: it’s because they haven’t been living in California for the past three years and thought it was a good idea.”

“I think we’ve exhausted our what we don’t know list, Wellbelove. Let’s see what we do know.”

“There’s the obvious: we've gathered here today to celebrate the union between Penelope and Micah because they want to show off how much they love each other and make all of their single friends understand just how single they actually are.”

“Sorry, Agatha.”

“Let’s just keep it going, shall we?”

“Right. We know that both the bride and the groom look incredible.”

“We know that they are also incredible people in all that they do for everyone they meet.”

“Unless they’re threatening someone they love. Because then they will destroy whatever threat is nearby because they are badasses.”

“We know that times will be rough.”

“But at the same time, Agatha, we know that Penny and Micah love each other and love can get them through anything.”

“Penny and Micah, we know that you are going to go and do incredible things.”

“And we also know that in a toast, we raise our glasses to the bride and groom. (This is your cue to raise your glasses, in case that wasn't clear.)”

“Right. So we know you are going to do incredible things because you brought all of us together.”

“And by us, we mean the ‘People Who Simon Snow Has Dated’ club.”

“Which only consists of and only will consist of myself and Baz.”

“So we will toast to Penny and Micah’s uncanny ability to bring people together...”

“No matter if they’re in Lancashire or Los Angeles.”

“And have both dated Simon Snow.”

“To bringing people together!”

"To Penny and Micah!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As always, feel free to leave comments and kudos; they never fail to make my day! 
> 
> Also, (shameless plug alert) go and check out my other fics if you feel so inclined! See you at Christmas!


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